


Eye for an Eye

by ActualHurry



Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bugs & Insects, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Immortal Severance Ending, M/M, Slow Burn, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-02-04 18:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18609871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualHurry/pseuds/ActualHurry
Summary: Wolf ensures that Genichiro lives on to see Ashina’s fall.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So...anyone else like the scenario where "aimless protagonist latches onto once-antagonist due to no longer having any anchor on this world"? I'm not sure how long this will be- bear with me, I have many feelings. 
> 
> Expect content in this fic befitting of the game itself (such as, gore, blood, description of injury, gross stuff, y'know.)

Kuro is gone.

Immortal severance is complete.

Ashina is burning.

In Wolf’s mind, these facts are laid out in the order of their importance. There is no other way to think of them. As a shinobi, he has no home. Yet he is a shinobi without a master to serve, so perhaps he is not much of a shinobi anymore, either.

Kuro’s body lies pinned beneath his sword, as if the blade is but a needle. His young face is relaxed, at peace. There had been nothing more for Kuro to ask of his Wolf. Wolf completed his master’s bidding to the very end.

The sweet scent of sakura still burns Wolf’s nose. The sun rises, warm on his bare face. The blood on his hand is cracking apart, dried out. On his other side, his prosthetic weighs more than he remembered.

A low, bubbling sound reaches Wolf’s keen ears.

Another fact: Genichiro Ashina has not yet given up.

Wolf has heard the same raspy gurgle for long enough that he assumes it is only Genichiro’s sheer power of will that keeps him clinging to this realm. That, or he cannot die until Ashina truly falls. Genichiro’s willpower or Ashina – which will crumble first, Wolf cannot say. He wouldn’t be surprised if they both turn to ashes at once.

He looks down at Kuro one more time then forces himself up onto his knees, and finally to his feet. Through the tall, swaying ocean of grass, Wolf takes step after step until he reaches Genichiro’s body. His Mortal Blade remains next to him, dark and angry, the metal clouded. Genichiro’s throat is an open wound, split wide and oozing red.

Genichiro breathes – tries to breathe – while Wolf stops in front of him. The result is disgusting, nothing more than a wet, useless sound. Whatever he’s done to his body has left him horrendously resilient, but at a cost. Wolf thinks of burning red eyes. He is scarred, in more ways than one.

Wolf picks up the Mortal Blade first and sheathes it. Holding onto even the hilt hurts, a tearing ache deep in his very existence.

Next, he drags Genichiro up off the blood-soaked ground. He is so much taller, and so much wider, and Wolf can hardly bear to touch him. But he balances Genichiro’s weight and reorients himself.

He moves at a grim pace. It is unbearably slow going. If any physician is going to piece this emptied-out man together again, Wolf counts himself lucky to know the one doctor who can make it happen.

Once shocked with white hair and painted with gray skin, the side of Wolf’s head is smeared dark with dangerous red by the time he pulls Genichiro’s broken body to a safer place.

Kuro is gone.

Immortal severance is complete.

Ashina is burning.

And – so long as Sekiro demands it – Genichiro Ashina will live.

 

Wolf brings Genichiro to the Dilapidated Temple. After all, they have nowhere to go now.

If the temple was lonely before, it is utterly desolate now. Hanbei is dead. The Sculptor is dead. Wolf does not have to find solace in knowing that he was merciful in his actions, he knows there is peace in death. There is no peace in life.

Emma remains, but she is here for sanctuary from the Ministry. Just as Wolf hoped.

He lays Genichiro’s body down in the temple. On their journey, he had forced sugars into Genichiro’s mouth to keep him alive, if not in a state of living. He had poured medicines from his gourd onto Genichiro’s throat, his shoulder, his neck, until it had run dry. There had been no protest, save for his red eyes rolling, unseeing, around in their sockets.

Emma kneels at Genichiro’s side. “He is…” she starts, then falls silent.

“Save him,” Wolf says.

She is quiet for another moment. “Will you fetch my supplies, please?”

He does.

Treatment is far from easy, and Emma lacks a variety of items that would speed things along, but she is unyielding in her practice and Wolf is nothing if not patient. He has nothing else to do but play assistant to her physician.

She requests clean water; Wolf brings clean water. She requests bandages; Wolf brings her bandages. It grows colder at night, and so he lights a fire by which she can work and keep warm. When her hands shake from her effort in sewing skin together again, they take quiet breaks. He tells her precious little about everything that has happened.

Her healing ability is as impressive as Wolf’s ability to kill, but even she has her limitations. Eventually she needs what she does not have.

“There are growths in his wound that I must remove,” Emma says to Wolf. “If he has any hope of surviving afterwards.” She thinks, looking down. “Or he may survive anyway...he has changed himself beyond recognition in many ways.”

“How do you remove the growths?” Wolf asks.

“It’s a delicate process, but…”

She tells him. Wolf listens closely, and before she says her farewells, he is already leaving to find the necessary items. He left Kusabimaru in the field, so he relies on the shadows and his cunning to survive, since he can no longer count on sakura-scented second chances to aid him. He sneaks to the Castle and past the Ministry, picks no fights and brings no ends. The Ministry is talented at their chaos, but their eyes are not accustomed to finding a wolf in the dark.

Emma gave him the location of a stash Dogen kept in the watchtower that Isshin Ashina frequented. Wolf slips inside and moves one of the mats to reveal multiple doctor’s bags. He takes them all, tying each to his waist to leave his hands free for climbing.

At the bottom of the stash is a katana. The sheath itself leans towards decorative, but as Wolf gently lifts it, he finds the blade itself is anything but.

 _Take everything you find,_ Emma said to him.

When he returns to the temple, she sets right to work on Genichiro again. He stirs very briefly, then settles down once more as she puts some sort of candy on his tongue.

“How did everything look?” Emma asks while she searches the supplies.

In his opinion, Ashina could not be retaken. By the time Genichiro recovers enough to put up a fight against anyone, let alone an army, Ashina will no longer exist. Wolf doubts that would stop him.

“The Castle still stands,” Wolf says.

“...Not for very long, I expect,” Emma finishes, sad. “Ashina’s people will fight to the death to preserve their home, with or without Lord Isshin.”

Ashina will collapse. Wolf cannot find it in him to mourn. His loyalty was never attached to a place.

Emma finds a sharp scalpel and sets it against Genichiro’s gaping wound. “Master Wolf.”

He flicks his gaze to her.

“What will you do now…? Without…”

Wolf makes a low noise in his throat and turns his face away.

“I see,” Emma says, and returns her full attention to her work, but not before she says, very quietly, “I’m sorry.”

She gives Wolf the responsibility of pouring water over each place that she extracts the growths. They are dark, angry lumps of wax, and feel cold to the touch despite the warm body from which they are taken. They smell like rotting leaves. Wolf’s nose twitches.

After, Emma can finally finish stitching Genichiro’s wound. The repetitive motions require her focus, and so Wolf sits where the Sculptor once was and he fiddles with his prosthetic. His arm aches with sharp pains even now. Once he had thought his arm would be all that Genichiro would take from him. Anything more seemed impossible.

When Emma finishes, she closes her eyes and sighs. “Do you still have…‘tea’?”

In the shelter of the temple, they pour, they share. Emma’s hair is as flawlessly smooth as ever despite the sweat at her forehead.

“May I ask something of you, Master Wolf?” she says.

It depends. But he has asked so much of her already so he nods.

“I want to ask…why have you brought him to me? I am a physician, I must do my duty, but I know what he has done. For you to bring him to me…please, help me understand.”

It’s not easy for her. Wolf can see the effort in her knitted brow, the way she grips her sakizuki in her skilled fingers.

“I completed Kuro’s wish to sever immortality,” he answers. “Would it have always required his death…?”

“...I cannot tell you.”

Wolf nods again, this time in acceptance, even as a maw opens inside his chest. “Genichiro’s attempted sacrifice to bring about a savior for Ashina...the Sword Saint...it was successful. Yet he lived, despite himself.”

Emma looks to the black Mortal Blade, sheathed, beside Genichiro’s body. Wolf pulls his gaze back to his sake.

“And for what?” he finishes, frowning deeply.

“...To see the end of Ashina.”

To see the end of his master, as he has made Wolf see the end of his. Wolf does not speak again, and though he makes no effort to confirm Emma’s last thought on the subject, his silence seems to be answer enough.

It’s late. Emma rises and, after deliberating, she brushes a light touch at Wolf’s shoulder. He stays as a statue through it.

“Rest soon,” she says. “You sway like a branch in the wind where you sit.”

Wolf will sleep, and he will hate his dreams. But he visits the Sculptor’s Idol first, where it casts blue light out in the center of the yard, and he allows himself to be comforted by the solemn feeling of safety there.

Under the roof, Genichiro sleeps like the dead. Nearby, Emma prepares for bed. She will wake hourly to check on her patient.

Wolf goes to the offering box. He lays his new katana, sheathed, onto the ground. He rolls out a mat next to it. He takes the prosthetic off so it won’t impede his rest if he sleeps on his side, and then he ignores the strange absence of weight on his arm that follows. An owl calls in the distant trees.

Underneath the cloudy sky, Wolf closes his eyes.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Likely, this story will update on Mondays. I'll try to keep everyone updated on my twitter, @ActualHurry, if that changes! As far as the "vision" I want to accomplish goes...
> 
> \- This will be something of an epilogue to the Immortal Severance ending, with AU parts (thanks to Genichiro's presence). I want to tie up some loose ends.  
> \- It will probably be ~10 chapters, give or take.  
> \- The rating will go up. ;)  
> \- I'm really thankful at all the comments so far! <3 I'm looking forward to keeping this little project going. :)

Wolf dreams of fire and smoke. At first, it is Hirata Estate burning, and then it is Ashina burning, and then it is the field where Kuro’s body remains, burning. He sleeps restlessly, sweats through his clothes, and has to rinse in the nearby river before he’s fit to face Emma the next morning. The river’s a trek through the trees, past the offering box.

The river is shallow enough, but chilly. The sun hasn’t yet warmed the water. He removes each layer of his clothing, unraveling the wraps at his calves and his arms. He wraps his prosthetic into his scarf and leaves the bundle, safe, at the side of the river.

Genichiro’s mess of blood is still in his hair, flaking off as he tries to pull fingers through his clumped strands. He rubs his weary skin until it stings to the touch, then lowers his head beneath the water. It’s so cold that his breath stutters in his lungs, but Wolf keeps himself underwater until the lethargic river around him is no longer tinted red from his washing. Then he breaks the surface and shakes out his dripping hair, panting hard while his heart thuds in his ears.

Despite the temperature, Wolf stays longer than he needs to, listening to the babble of the river and the morning birdsong. Trees stir in the light breeze, leaves brushing together lazily. By all accounts, it is a kind day. He can’t see it as such.

Once he’s out of the water, he secures his prosthetic to his arm again. It does nothing for the ache embedded in his missing limb. He ties his hair up, dries himself, and returns to the temple dressed and clean, yet no more refreshed.

Upon his approach, Wolf hears a long, miserable series of groans. He hesitates to tread up the incline leading into the temple itself, and instead sneaks around until he is standing behind the meager building. The decrepit wood allows just enough sound to pass through for him to listen.

“You’ve made yourself bleed again, Lord Genichiro…”

With the way that younger version of Isshin Ashina had torn himself out of Genichiro’s body, it’s a miracle that he still has enough of his faculties to make sounds at all. His head lolled like a broken doll’s when Wolf dragged him back to the temple.

Genichiro’s voice is too strangled to make out anything coherent, but Wolf catches one word. “– Ashina.”

“Ashina is...” Emma trails off, then continues, “Lord Genichiro, If you keep moving around, you’re going to make it worse.”

Slowly but surely, Genichiro’s strained, fitful breaths even out. It’s then that Wolf silently moves around to the temple’s entrance once more, just as Emma is leaving. She looks at him a little too sharply.

“Good morning, Master Wolf,” she says. “Are you well?”

It must show on his face. When he says nothing, Emma’s lips thin. Instead of providing a response, he hands her his bag. She peers inside.

“I have rice,” he says by way of explanation. “And persimmon.”

“Breakfast, then.”

They prepare the rice, to Wolf’s chagrin, then eat in quiet companionship. Because he’s curious, Wolf eventually brings her the katana that he found in Isshin’s stash. Emma seems sad, but she smiles at it.

“If you found it, then it is yours,” she tells him. “Lord Isshin did not wield this blade, as far as I am aware. But he was the type to ensure his hands were never far from a sword.”

Wolf does not correct her – he is almost certain that it is the same sword that the Tengu used for hunting his rats. But if Isshin used the Tengu as a secret escape from his illness and the imprisonment it wrought, then Wolf will continue to keep that secret for him, even in death.

“Will you be safe here?” Wolf asks, his new katana now at his side.

“Yes,” Emma says, looking up at him. “Are you leaving?”

Wolf nods. “...For now.”

“We await your return.”

Before he leaves, Wolf slings his Mortal Blade over his back. Then he enters the temple and takes the black Mortal Blade, too. Genichiro will be furious when he wakes up and finds his it gone, but Wolf suspects that he may be preoccupied being furious over many other things.

There’s not much use for these weapons now that immortality has no power in this realm. He takes both Mortal Blades with him as he leaves the temple. Traveling requires stealth more than not; the Interior Ministry has yet to fully infiltrate Ashina, but Wolf is not going to risk their attention. He picks his way across rooftops and Nightjar paths, giving the Castle a wide berth and choosing, instead, to trek up Mt. Kongo.

By the mountain’s appearance, the Ministry hasn’t ventured this far...or if they have, the Senpou monks have pushed them back. How long they may continue the fight, Wolf doesn’t care to know. The monks are patrolling, watchful, and so Wolf chooses roads less traveled. He keeps to trees and cliffsides, sometimes ledges, and when he needs to – only when he needs to, – he darts through lines of sight.

A deep yearning for blood brews inside him. When he’d come here once, he had not hesitated to cut throats of those who opposed him on his quest to carry out Kuro’s bidding. Then, blood spilled had only been necessary. Yet now he wants the clash of swords and grit of teeth, the wet drag of his blade through flesh, the splash of red on the fallen leaves.

Wolf catches a hint of sakura in the air. He shakes it off and continues. Senpou Temple awaits.

The Divine Child of Rejuvenation smiles when she catches sight of Wolf, her soft eyes growing brighter and the refined tension in her straight-backed posture turning into that of a less difficult sort. She sits, gleaming, in her terrible temple.

Wolf kneels before her, not out of subservience, but out of respect.

“Shinobi of the Divine Heir,” The Divine Child greets.

The very words wound him. Her face falls.

“Oh…Oh, no.”

She whispers an apology for his grief, but Wolf only turns his head down further to the tatami floor, staring at it. When she beckons him to look up, she has a handful of pretty, silver rice held between her palms.

“For you,” she says, soft. Her smile becomes tenuous. “The harvest is thinning…soon, there will be no rice left. Please, enjoy.”

Wolf cups his hands to allow her to pour the rice there. It’s more than she’s ever given him before; he suspects it may be all that remains. He puts it in his bag to give to Emma later.

“Now…Have you come for more than rice?” she asks.

Wolf takes both morbid swords from his back and lays them at her feet. “Lord Genichiro Ashina had a Mortal Blade as well,” he says. “He tried to end himself with it.”  

The Divine Child doesn’t reach for the sheathed weapons. Her brow simply furrows deeper. “To become undying and all that it brings with it is a curse…Would you have me watch over both Mortal Blades?”

“If you would.”

“I don’t know how much longer I’ll remain here,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “When the monks discover that immortality has been severed…”

The Divine Child looks to the temple entrance, where the sun spills in and leaves litter the steps. Wolf rises to his feet.

Before he has the chance to speak, she continues on: “I will keep the Mortal Blades. Please visit again, in some time.”

Wolf frowns, but she smiles.

“Be safe on your way, Shinobi,” she says.

The journey back to is quieter than the climb up Mt. Kongo. Wolf returns without drawing his katana once, and Emma greets him with what must be relief. He passes the bag of rice to her again. Tomorrow, he will catch fish and hunt for edible plants in the forest. It’s too much trouble to find anything in the heart of Ashina for now, and they cannot live off of rice and candies forever.

As the moon rises over their temple, Wolf goes to work on his arm. Close by, Emma tends to Genichiro’s wound. It requires cleansing often. He’s going to have another scar. Wolf allows himself the indulgence of looking.

The candlelight would make it difficult to see, if not for his Night Eye. Genichiro’s skin is blackened in many places, a living memory of his training to wield lightning. With most of the blood cleaned from what skin isn’t torn, Wolf can see the scars he’d left on Genichiro from their fights...that was testament to the resilience of whatever heretical power he’d wielded.

Emma catches him.

“Immortal severance has changed Ashina,” she says as his eyes dart down and away. “Many people and creatures here have felt the effects of immortality…in all its forms. Now, it is over. Thanks to Lord Kuro, and thanks to you.”

Wolf dares to study Genichiro’s wounds a moment longer. “How did he come by immortality?”

“The Rejuvenating Waters, somehow…where it is most concentrated.”

Wolf looks to his loaded shuriken again, tapping his tool against the metal. Then, he says, “The Divine Child of Rejuvenation. She said, ‘the harvest is thinning.’”

“Then even the Senpou monks’ false heritage can feel the end of immortality,” Emma says quietly.

Genichiro stirs and they both go silent. Emma has bound his right arm close to his body to keep him from moving his shoulder overmuch, which is just as well – Genichiro’s eyes fly open a second later and he lurches upright through core strength alone.

“Lord Genichiro –!” Emma says hastily, her hands out to urge him to stop.

Wolf is not so gentle. He grabs hold of Genichiro’s good shoulder and slams him back down to the floor. The strength behind it causes Genichiro to gasp in pain and shudder in on himself, gritted teeth allowing him only little hisses of air. Wolf does not let go of him. Genichiro grips Wolf’s left wrist tightly, fingers curling around the imitation of a radius bone.

“Shi–no–bi,” Genichiro grinds out from the back of his throat.

Wolf says nothing, even as Genichiro’s unfocused stare finds him. Genichiro’s eyes, he notes, are no longer red.

“Where…” Genichiro coughs, blood and spittle at the corner of his vicious mouth. “Where is your Divine Heir?”

Wolf presses his thumb sharply into the soft pressure point between Genichiro’s shoulder and his neck. Genichiro nearly _writhes_ , his knuckles white where he tries to rip Wolf’s prosthetic from him.

“Master Wolf. Lord Genichiro.”

Emma’s voice contains no clemency, and it is enough for both men to stop, their concentration on one another broken for the time.

“For the sake of healing,” Emma goes on. “It would be best if you two did not speak.”

Wolf lets go of Genichiro, pulling his arm free with a jerk, though it takes little effort on his part. He stands up and nods stiffly at Emma. He will earn her ire for what he does next, but when he blinks he still sees the scene from his dreams, the field of grass on fire.

“Where is your Ashina?” Wolf asks over his shoulder, just before he goes.

Genichiro’s strangled noise and the wrathful cry that follows must stir the very sky itself.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so maybe I'm not that good at sticking to schedules. But that's fantastic news for everyone reading this lil thing, because I'm posting this a day early!

Genichiro continues to recover with astonishing speed. He sleeps through the next two days and then awakens that following night with a jerky series of coughs, each one sounding wetter and looser than the last. Wolf imagines it must taste like blood when he swallows.

“Where is she?” Genichiro asks into the dark, his voice low and scratchy.

Wolf stays in his spot in the middle of the temple room. He doesn’t look at Genichiro and keeps his eyes on his work, ensuring a keen edge on his shuriken. “Resting,” he says.

Genichiro uses his good arm to push himself halfway upright before he reaches out blindly to find his water. He manages to take hold of the small gourd next to him and lifts it to his mouth. The gourd must be empty, because he makes a dissatisfied sound and puts it down again. The hollow sound agrees with Wolf’s judgment: empty.

Wolf continues to sharpen his shuriken.

“Sekiro,” says Genichiro.

Wolf pauses.

“That’s what my grandfather called you,” Genichiro says. “Yet…if you ask me, you possess both arms well enough. Sekiro.”

Satisfied with his shuriken, Wolf moves on to the next one. “You’re straining yourself.”

“Existing strains me.” Genichiro’s reply is dry. He must be feeling better. “I did not intend on living, as you know.”

Wolf sharpens each cutting edge with acute precision.

“So tell me, Sekiro,” Genichiro goes on. “Why am I still living then, if I intended the opposite?”

The shuriken chips. It will have to be replaced. Wolf sets it aside.

Genichiro makes another displeased sound when no reply comes, not unlike his reaction to finding no water in his gourd. “Do you expect my thanks?”

Wolf keeps his silence like it is something precious.

“Perhaps you’ll want to kill me yourself when I’m fully recovered, so it will be fair in your mind,” Genichiro says. “Would anyone blame you?”

Genichiro wants to die, Wolf knows. Genichiro wants to die because he knows Ashina is lost, but it cannot happen. Wolf is going to keep him alive until his heart chooses to stop beating, not because of the swipe of a sword or the stab of a blade. Genichiro Ashina is going to watch his land be razed and ruined.

For a second, the candle by his feet roars in his ears like a larger flame.

Wolf slips; his thumb finds the pointed tip of the shuriken. The pad of his thumb stings and blood wells up into a single, full droplet. He stares down at it, displeased at his sloppiness.

The back of his neck prickles with awareness. When he finally raises his gaze, he finds that Genichiro is watching him closely. Genichiro’s brows twitch downwards as their eyes meet, but neither of them would dare to be the first to look away. Wolf presses his blood-wet thumb against the flat side of the shuriken’s metal.

“Your eyes,” Genichiro says, voice piercing the silence as an arrow would flesh. “Like a wolf with nothing left to hunt. Starved for meaning.”

Wolf stares, rubbing his thumb back and forth against the metal. Back and forth, back and forth.

“Unlucky wolf.” Genichiro bares his teeth. “I have no scraps for you.”

The candle flickers. It catches both men’s attention enough to shatter the moment, gazes broken and tension interrupted. Wolf licks his thumb clean of the blood, puts his shuriken away, then stands. He dares to tread closer to Genichiro only to pick up his water gourd. Genichiro does not ask him where he is going, or if he will be back. He could be more or less miserable with Wolf’s absence – it doesn’t make a difference. Wolf will still return, give him his clean water, and continue with his sharpening. Wolf has no scraps for the starving tiger, either.

He’ll need to make a trip to collect more water soon, but they have enough for the moment. Thanks to the Divine Child, they have plenty food; the rice she’d most recently given Wolf sates appetites quickly. The Ministry seems to be staying within the Castle, at least for now. Ashina may be falling around them, but the Dilapidated Temple is a sanctuary within the maelstrom.

When Wolf makes his way back into the temple, Genichiro is already asleep again. Emma’s kneeling next to his sleeping form, cleaning the garish wound.

“I apologize if I woke you,” Wolf says, his voice quiet as he places the full gourd on the floor.

“No, I was already awake,” Emma says gently.

She tries not to irritate Genichiro’s skin, but it’s almost impossible with the width and breadth of his injury. Red oozes from between stitches, dirtying yet another set of bandages. If nothing else, Wolf will need to find someone who can supply medical items. Genichiro is burning through everything they have at a rapid pace.

Emma’s work slows, then she adds, “I heard you talking.”

The nape of Wolf’s neck warms. He has no need to feel chided, but he does have it in him to feel sorry for inconveniencing her. As long as they keep it to only talking and nothing more, he hopes that she won’t grow weary.

“I expect he’s not thankful for what you’ve done,” Emma goes on.

She’s pressing, but not directly, giving Wolf plenty space to avoid the question if he likes. It’s polite and he’s grateful to her, but he takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

“What he owes me has already been repaid,” Wolf says. “I don’t want his thanks.”

“I see.”

Emma finishes up, replacing those dirtied bandages with clean. Genichiro may be lax with exhaustion, but his face is still tight with something dark and angry, brows low and jaw clenched. His hair is a wild, knotted mess. Wolf’s fingers twitch, tempted by his own restlessness to untangle it.

“You may go rest now.”

The words startle Wolf into attention and he shakes his head again. “I will return.”

Wolf passes through the gate leading out towards the cliffs, the cool air aiding in unwinding his rigid muscles. It’s been a couple days since he last roamed beyond the area surrounding the temple, and he needs to burn some energy. He grapples to a low hanging branch, the impact of his feet knocking snow loose, down into the long drop below him.

There, Wolf breathes.

It’s a moment of meditation, meant to center himself. He toes towards the end of the branch and, slowly, slowly, lets himself tip over into nothingness. The world tilts. The cold rushes upwards from the endless chasm to meet him.

Wolf throws his left arm out; his grapple catches on the next branch and then he’s flying, weightless – each arc takes him dangerously close to the mountain sides surrounding him, but it’s only his scarf that catches on the rocks. He tucks his knees close to his chest in each swing, faster and faster, chasing the breeze.

His road ends faster than he would like, when there are no more branches, no more jutting rocks that can support his weight. He flings the grapple upwards one last time to catch the edge of a cliff.

For a second, it looks as if his grapple might not dig in. Then the line goes taut, Wolf’s shoulder lights up with pain, and Wolf slams into the rock wall. His lungs stutter with the force, a sharp ache blossoming across his ribs.

The wind howls like a spirit, the chilled air more unforgiving now than it was when he’d been throwing himself through it. Fighting the urge to cough, Wolf pushes the tips of his feet into the stone to balance himself.

A deep rumbling causes his grapple’s line to tremble. Wolf wastes no more time, crawling up to the small overhang. In the distance, he can hear the echoing rattle of scales against stone. Ducking down into the nearby cavern to take cover in case the Serpent decides to come this way, Wolf waits.

It might be minutes, or it might be hours. The sun is hidden behind clouds heavy with unseen snow, and so he cannot rely on it for an accurate time. It’s quiet enough that he doesn’t feel in any danger by the time that he emerges from the cave, though he still checks the great valley below him for any sign of a white, coiling form.

Wolf travels deeper into Ashina’s outskirts without catching sight of the Great Serpent – and more importantly, without anyone catching sight of him. Tall grass waves back and forth at him, inviting, as he sneaks through to the next rock wall he must scale. He would grapple, but his shoulder would not take kindly to the weight.

It takes little time to reach the top, but his strained body protests every second. The Crow’s Bed Memorial Mob tent awaits. The black birds for which the merchant is named scatter at his approach, taking to the sky. Wolf pauses to let them all go, then walks closer to the tent.

“Oh, it’s you,” says the merchant. “I’m all out of offerings. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not here for an offering.”

“Ah, really? Everyone else has wanted offerings for their unquiet dead. There’s a lot…”

For a brief second, Wolf thinks of Kuro.

“Your face…mm, you too, then? …I see. One moment.” The merchant goes quiet, and then sounds as if he’s shuffling items between bags. Through the tent’s open flap, a hand reaches out, holding a bundled cloth. “You’ve been a good patron. And good to the crows. Take this.”

“…Thank you.” Wolf takes the cloth and whatever is inside, tucking it away for later. “Do you still have stock?”

“Some things more than others. What are you hunting for?”

“Medical supplies.”

“Offerings for the living, not the dead? Not my specialty.” The merchant hums. “But I may have some things.”

Wolf looks at the tent for a moment, then sits outside of it. His ribs are sore and ache deeper with every breath, surely bruised. “Would you move shop elsewhere?”

“Again…?” The merchant stays thoughtfully quiet. “Most have moved on in this area, that is true…and the departed will not purchase their own offerings. But I have nowhere I would go.”

It’s the common thread that holds them all together, everyone in the temple, just as Hanbei said. Wolf tells the merchant as much and gives him the directions. Fujioka has long since gone; if they are to continue staying in the temple, then they need a consistent flow of supplies.

“Will you be able to travel safely?” Wolf asks, standing up.

“Easy,” the merchant says. “All I have to do is watch the crows.”

Above them, the crows circle the sky, each of them cawing as if shouting their impatience. On the horizon, dark smoke rises, heavy and thick with whatever pieces of Ashina that the Ministry is burning through today.

“You know,” the merchant calls after him, “crows and wolves get along well. They help each other. Clever creatures.”

Wolf tosses a glance over his shoulder just in time to see the tent flap flutter shut. He picks his path down to the road carefully, ducking through tall grass to avoid the sharp eyes of the Ministry, and then takes the safer route back to the temple, avoiding any acrobatics.

The next day, Wolf wakes up to the sound of crows, all of them surrounding the tent pitched in the courtyard of the temple. Genichiro sits at the temple steps, watching the birds. When he notices Wolf looking at him, he turns his head away.

Just as well. Wolf walks up to the tent and crouches down, extending his pill case and a handful of sen to the merchant. He needs more pellets.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Crying  
> I love the Crow's Bed Memorial Mob merchant-


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emetophobia warning for this chapter.

Days pass. The nights especially are difficult for Genichiro, who sometimes wakes up sweating and delirious – from pain, from rage, or from the madness that still causes his eyes to glint scarlet at times, Wolf doesn’t know. Emma allows him to sweat the fevers out in relative peace, but Wolf doesn’t have the same mercy. Kusabimaru, which once urged him to stay his hand, is no longer his – so, neither are its graceful exceptions.

One night, Genichiro’s struggle is particularly severe. He gnashes his teeth and spits blood on the tatami floor and stretches out until he shakes, as if the key to ending his suffering is an elongated spine. The moon pools into the open room through the entrance, casting Genichiro’s wan skin in a colder, less forgiving light.

Wolf watches, silent, until Genichiro turns onto his side towards him, curled up there as his body is wracked with coughs.

“Quiet,” Wolf says. “You’ll wake someone.”

Genichiro’s narrowed eyes glare back at him, his gritted teeth painted with flecks of red. “Let me up,” he manages to hiss.

Wolf frowns at him, but Genichiro’s good arm shoots out to fist in Wolf’s scarf. He yanks Wolf down – or tries to pull himself higher – and says against Wolf’s chest, like a rumble of thunder, “ _Let me_ up.”

He must be desperate to ask for Wolf’s help, and that alone pushes Wolf into action. He puts an arm around Genichiro’s back and hoists him into an upright, seated position. Genichiro’s body is so surprisingly light and limp that the momentum pulls Genichiro almost into his lap. For a moment longer than expected, Genichiro’s straining, wheezing breaths are warm against Wolf’s neck, in and out, and as he turns his head, his chapped lips brush Wolf’s skin.

Wolf releases him like he’s been shocked.

Genichiro nearly keels right over once more, pulling Wolf’s scarf off in a last-ditch effort to keep himself off the floor. Instinct takes over; somehow Wolf catches him again, silently cursing himself for his distraction. He holds onto Genichiro this time, keeping him still. Genichiro bares his teeth at him again, but is immediately caught up in another coughing fit, keeping him from any snide comments about Wolf’s slippery fingers.

Genichiro’s bloody spittle blots the tatami floor in repulsive patterns. Wolf keeps a strong grip on Genichiro’s wide shoulders, careful not to touch the long, messy wound near his throat. A shiver rattles Genichiro’s frame.

And then Genichiro lurches away and throws up a grainy mix of mud and water. He gags on it, each strangled cough only adding to the mess on the temple floor.

Wolf stares while Genichiro heaves for air. Whatever’s come out of him looks like soil and dirt dug up from a river, as if someone sunk their fingers into the slimy bottom of it and carefully cupped the riverbed in their palms as they brought it to the surface. Genichiro coughs a few times more, but only to spit out the grit that remains in his throat. His lungs sound less wet than they have in days, and already, he sits straighter against Wolf’s support.

“Sediment,” Genichiro says hoarsely. His lips twist. He turns his head from Wolf to spit again. “Immortality…no longer agrees with me.”

Wolf remembers what the Divine Child said about the harvest. Immortality has been severed, and its tendrils seem to slowly be withdrawing from those affected.

“When we crossed blades in Ashina Castle…I had never smelled sakura more strongly than when you ran me through.” Genichiro rubs the back of his hand over his mouth, taking in a deep, even breath. Then he looks at Wolf. “Now, you smell like blood and ash.”

Wolf’s anger flares between each of his ribs, hot and bright and painful.

Whatever Genichiro sees in his face causes him to nod, and Wolf refuses to label it _understanding_. Genichiro casts his gaze outside. The moon traces every edge and angle of his form, highlighting each line of exhaustion and all the grim determination that can’t be buried. He’s frowning, somehow pensive. Wolf is struck by the urge to press his hand over Genichiro’s mouth until he’s forced to sink in his teeth.

“Nothing could find its way between you and your loyalty,” Genichiro murmurs. “What makes you think it could be any different for me?”

Wolf realizes he’s still holding Genichiro up. He drops his arm and snatches up his scarf, sidling away to avoid touching the other man any more. Genichiro, despite swaying back a moment as if he might fall backwards, stays upright without the help. Wolf quickly wraps his scarf around his neck again.

When he glances up, Genichiro is watching him. Wolf counts the seconds and says nothing, can’t think of anything that doesn’t involve digging his thumb into the soft, hollow part of Genichiro’s throat just to feel his pulse flutter.

“So skittish when you’re without your blade,” Genichiro remarks, sounding unimpressed. His eyes, Wolf notices, have no tint of red in them.

“I have a blade,” Wolf says, to shake off the urge to run, run away.

“Not on your person.”

Wolf blinks at him, very slowly.

“Am I not a threat to you, Sekiro?” Genichiro measures out the words carefully.

“…Are you meant to be?”

Genichiro’s brows twitch as if he’s unsure whether he should be offended or not, but he forges onward regardless. “As long as we’re speaking of swords…where are the Mortal Blades?”  

“Safe.”

“Did you return them to their resting places?”

Wolf flexes his prosthetic fingers, one at a time, and does not say anything.

Genichiro snorts, then coughs. “No matter. I’ll find the black Mortal Blade again. It is my best chance at freeing Ashina.”

He’s like a tiger with its jaws locked around a dying idea. Wolf almost feels for him. The leaves rustle in the wind outside, and for a time, neither of them pay any mind to each other. Then Genichiro turns his head suddenly to look at Wolf again, his dark gaze glittering. Wolf stares back at him, drawing away slightly to make more space between them.

“The Mortal Blade you wielded…Tell me, lonely wolf, what is its purpose?” Genichiro asks.

“The crimson Mortal Blade…?” Wolf’s eyes narrow into yellow points of distrust in the otherwise dark room. “Slaying the undying.”

Genichiro uses his free hand to push sweaty clumps of hair out of his face, suddenly seeming restless. “And the black Mortal Blade. Do you know what its purpose is?”

Wolf looks pointedly at Genichiro’s ragged, oozing wound.

“Yes, it serves another purpose,” Genichiro says, incensed and wild. “It creates life from sacrifice. The ‘Open Gate’. The black Mortal Blade…it opens a gate for the dead.”

Wolf frowns as Genichiro moves closer, closes that space between himself and Wolf, just to lean in and meet his eyes up close. Wolf forgets that where he can see perfectly fine in this darkness, Genichiro cannot. This close to each other, Wolf must be much more than a muddled shadow in the night.

Genichiro grasps at his scarf again. Wolf does not resist. He leans the smallest bit back to peer down at Genichiro, nose wrinkled and lips pressed tightly together, but he does not pull away from him.

“A gate to the underworld,” Genichiro goes on softly. “Through which the dead may pull themselves.”

Wolf’s heart seizes.

He blinks and sees Kuro’s body on the ground, Kusabimaru standing alone in the field, blood pooling in the soil. He can imagine the smell of sakura in the air. He replays every single of his deaths in his mind, every single time that he clawed his way up from the ground to do better, the sickening slide of his blade’s metal through flesh, the sensation of all the swords that split his chest open in turn. He furrows his brows and sees fire, feels heat on his skin.

Through it all, Genichiro watches him.

Wolf takes a deep, deep breath. Yet still, he feels as if he might be drowning. “Immortality is…”

“Severed?” Genichiro finishes for him. “So the crimson Mortal Blade has lost its purpose. No matter. The ‘Open Gate’ has not.”

Wolf stares at him, still and silent.

Genichiro’s hand slides upwards from the scarf; his large palm cups the back of Wolf’s neck, hot and heavy there. Wolf doesn’t move. He can’t. Genichiro has offered him a solution he thought lost. It’s a kindness all the while that it’s torture.

“My opinion has not changed, shinobi,” Genichiro murmurs. “Still, you deserve better.”

He tucks his thumb beneath the edge of Wolf’s jaw and pushes to tilt his chin higher, to see him bare his throat the tiniest amount. Genichiro’s hair falls into his eyes again, but Wolf can still see the intense, determined expression he wears.

“Even now, you would not answer to a different lord?”

Genichiro’s hand is scarred-over and rough where he holds Wolf’s neck, his touch hardened through constant struggle to master the Way of Tomoe. He would do anything, Wolf knows, to save Ashina. No matter the cost.

“I beseech you,” Genichiro says, low. “Only for a time. Consider it.”

His fingers tighten at Wolf’s nape, and for a heartbeat he is in danger of Genichiro pulling him in, nearly nose-to-nose. They’re a breath away when Wolf quickly swats Genichiro’s arm from him, knocking his hold away. Genichiro exhales sharply and recoils – but Wolf chases, pressing his prosthetic hand down on Genichiro’s bare chest, between the muscle of his pecs, beneath the hollow of his throat, pushing him flat to the floor.

“What do you want from me?” Wolf asks. His voice stays hushed. His hand stays firm. He does not tremble.

Genichiro dares to reach up, curling fingers around Wolf’s wrist. His index and middle fingers curve through the inside of the prosthetic, between wood and bone.

“Your ability,” Genichiro says. “Your aid. I want to make a deal with you.”

There’s only honesty in Genichiro’s face. Wolf searches the depth of his eyes, the line of his mouth. He stares down at him and sincere resolve looks back up. Genichiro Ashina is not a snake.

“What deal?” Wolf presses. He doesn’t mean to sound desperate.

Genichiro’s fingers slide up higher, nearly to the place where prosthetic meets flesh and where cloth covers that divide. “I’ve given you information. Repay me.”

Wolf glances slowly down to Genichiro’s abdomen, then lower, and Genichiro makes a sudden, strangled sound.

“Not in that way!” Genichiro snaps, but Wolf is not so oblivious that he wouldn’t notice the flush of blood gathering in someone’s face. Genichiro grabs tightly onto Wolf’s arm, gritting out the words: “I help you save the Divine Heir. Then…you help me save Ashina.”

Wolf doesn’t say anything at first. How can he, when Genichiro is offering an impossibility? Yet –

“Together, we have nothing,” Genichiro urges, holding onto him like a lifeline. “But together, we can take back everything.”

Wolf can’t help but wonder if Genichiro is still mad, if what Sediment still remains in his body is causing him to spout nonsense, or if that has always been who Genichiro is. Someone who would leap into an abyss to ensure the existence of the object of his passion. Someone who would drink from the most infested water to give himself the best chance at success. Someone who would seize any manner of power for the slightest shot at victory, his own life be damned.

They are not so very different, Wolf thinks.

Wolf takes his hand from Genichiro, shaking off his grip once more. He shifts to kneel, swallowing tightly, then ducks his head.

“I accept your deal,” he says, eyes trained on the floor.

He feels, not sees, Genichiro sit up slowly. He hears Genichiro’s long exhale, as if he was holding his breath, and he knows that if he had not bothered to drag Genichiro’s mangled almost-corpse back to the temple, this alliance of theirs would have never come to pass.

“Then we are allies for now,” Genichiro says. “Shinobi of Ashina.”

As the sun rises over the horizon the next morning, a deep red paints the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love UST.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying this work, please consider checking out these other two Wolf/Genichiro fics that I am REALLY pining for at all hours of the day: [Of Three Faces](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18732679/chapters/44432617) by kamikaze43v3r and [cycle of violence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18467920/chapters/43755055) by zealotarchaeologist. <3

Without the Sediment, Genichiro’s recovery slows. Daily, Wolf patrols the perimeter of the temple to ensure that the Ministry is not stumbling too closely to their location, but daily he is reassured. Even the smell of smoke does not reach them here, though fires rage in the castle walls. Something keeps this place safe from the chaos outside. What that ‘something’ is, Wolf cannot say, but he is deeply grateful for it. It is possibly the only thing their little group has going for them these days.

It becomes easy to wrap himself in thoughts of the past while he skulks about. Lady Butterfly used to tell him stories of shinobi from other lands, how their Code hinged on secrecy and subterfuge, rather than bloodied blades and following their Master’s command. Even when he was young, Wolf did not pay the tales much mind; all that mattered to him then was what he knew – and what he knew was only his father’s word.

Now, as he climbs through Ashina’s ruins, it seems that he has taken on the foreign shinobi creed. Shadows and sneaking, little interaction. To bring attention to himself would invite destruction, and now that he knows that he is key to saving Kuro, he won’t risk it.

Wolf mantles up to a rooftop and creeps along the edge. Two Interior Ministry soldiers speak quietly below him. Wolf could so easily descend upon them and sink the Tengu’s blade into one’s back, then tear it free in a spray of blood and slice the other’s neck open. It would take seconds. It would be silent.

But Wolf thinks of Kuro. Instead of piercing metal and dripping blood, he eavesdrops.

“The Castle may belong to the Interior Ministry, but the land still has pests running around.”

“I’ve heard they’re hiding somewhere like rodents. Somewhere called ‘Hirata Estate.’ But…it’s only ashes.”

The first soldier scoffs. “Everywhere is ash here.”

Wolf slips away while they laugh together.

His thoughts circle around Hirata as he returns to the temple, though those same thoughts halt suddenly when he sees Genichiro. The lord’s face is upturned towards the morning sun, paying no mind to Wolf as he stretches his legs, but Wolf still stays beneath the shadow of the gate while he watches him.

In stark contrast to the rattly-lunged, slumped man he’s been on the tatami floor, Genichiro’s back is straight and his figure is tall. His hair isn’t so tangled today, tied back neatly as it would have been when he once wore his armor. The killing blows – _intended_ to be killing blows – that Wolf has left on him are still obvious on his torso, a brief interruption in the otherwise impressive surface. His skin is marred by many other marks too, not least of all those black streaks tracking up his arms. Wolf traces those dark burns all the way up until he reaches Genichiro’s throat.

Emma has removed the binding that once kept his arm still, revealing all the skin beneath those bandages. The once-mortal tear from his neck to shoulder to chest has closed nicely. Wolf is not a physician, but even he can recognize what has almost finished its healing. At least it no longer appears as if it might rip itself open at the slightest motion.

Wolf is still looking at Genichiro’s body when he feels the nape of his neck begin to prickle; glancing up, he realizes he’s been caught. Genichiro stares back at him with curiosity that quickly shadows over. Wolf wipes his own face clear of anything that could give the depth of his scrutiny away.

Emma saves him from further disgrace. She crosses the courtyard, calling out, “Master Wolf,” as she approaches. When she reaches him, she smiles something small and nods. “I am glad to see you’ve returned without harm. May I ask…how is it…?”

Wolf shakes his head once, then pauses, looking past Emma and beyond, to Genichiro once more. He raises his hand, catching Genichiro’s attention, then beckons him over.

“The Ministry has fully moved into the Castle,” Wolf says. Genichiro stops near them, listening. “I saw no Ashina forces, but heard that they may be taking refuge in what remains of the Hirata Estate.”

“Then there is still a resistance,” Genichiro cuts in. Where his gaze was dark with curiosity a moment ago, now his eyes are lit aflame.

“Is it a resistance?” Emma asks, frowning. “Or is it refuge?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Genichiro declares. “Soldiers or civilians. They will be protected. Their home must be saved and the invaders driven out.”

His certainty is so intense that Wolf, for a second, almost forgets that there is even anything in doubt. It is Emma’s quiet hum that brings him back to earth. Wolf watches her as she raises her hand to her chin thoughtfully.

“Is that truly possible with the state of Ashina right now…?”

“Ashina would not have become overrun so quickly had a certain shinobi not dismantled all her defenses. Perhaps Ashina would not be overrun at all if that was not the case.” Genichiro gives Wolf a sidelong glance, silent for a moment. Unrepentant, Wolf will not even begin to apologize. Genichiro slowly adds, “But…that very same shinobi will now work on the side of Ashina. I believe that will turn the tide in our favor.”

Wolf stares at him. Even without the Divine Heir’s power on his side, Genichiro thinks he can tear through an army? Maybe he’s still mad after all.

Genichiro only raises his chin in the face of Wolf’s disbelief.

Fine. Wolf has ripped apart one army. He’ll do it again. As many times as it takes.

Emma nods, though she looks between Wolf and Genichiro with something near worry, if not outright concern. “You’ve told me of your plan,” she says. “I only hope it succeeds. Allow my ability to be of whatever use it can.”

“We are glad for your aid,” Genichiro says. Wolf can’t be irritated at being spoken for when he agrees. Without Emma, they would be in much worse shape.

The conversation tapers. Emma moves forward, checking Genichiro’s injury. Genichiro stands carefully – like a tiger suddenly made aware of its claws – as Emma nears. Seeing Genichiro in this light is distinctly new to Wolf, who has only ever witnessed bold swathes of motion from the man. Their familiarity doesn’t surprise Wolf, since he knows their shared history as Dogen’s and Isshin’s adopted children, but it is maybe the gentlest he has ever seen Genichiro.

It’s like seeing a songbird during the deepest night. Strange.

Wolf turns away, heading towards his small section of the temple. He’s set up a humble bed roll near the edge of the bamboo forest, even complete with a tent that he’d purchased from the Memorial Mob. It’s much closer to the temple itself than where he was sleeping before, way out where he once met Hanbei. Wolf liked his seclusion, but with how often he ended up watching over Genichiro through the night, it only made sense to move his few things.

Inside his tent, he takes out the offering that the Memorial Mob gave to him. The cloth around the offering is softer than he would expect from the rough-looking texture. He studies it before he tucks it into his bag. He does not think he’s in need of it, not now that Kuro will be brought back, but it feels right to carry it until that day comes. He packs a couple persimmons to take with him, then loads up his shuriken prosthetic.

Wolf’s caught as he’s on his way out of the temple.

“Sekiro.”

Genichiro stands by the gate. He’s fully dressed, though not in the heavy armor that Wolf once fought him in. He wears hakama and a loose-fitting top, not unlike Wolf’s, but his sleeves are long. A single gauntlet keeps the cloth tucked tightly against his dominant arm, no doubt to ensure it won’t catch on arrow fletching. His bow is on his back once more.

With his stance, he appears ready to take on the whole of the Ministry himself. Wolf rests his hand on his blade’s handle, all on instinct, though he does not curl his fingers around it.

“Allow me to join you,” Genichiro says. His eyes flick down to Wolf’s sword. Wolf flattens out his hand, then drops his arms by his side. “I grow tired of waiting in this temple.”

Wolf understands a little too well. “…Can you keep up?”

“I have our doctor’s blessing. Is that not enough for you?”

His expression says enough that Genichiro scoffs and closes the gap between them, eyes glinting. Wolf stands still and immovable, even as Genichiro looms tall above him.

“Lonely wolf,” Genichiro says, solemn. Despite his proximity, Wolf recognizes he’s not attempting to threaten him. “Do not doubt me.”

Then: “Please.”

Wolf looks up at him. Genichiro does not beg lightly, and Wolf will not make him ask again. He steps back, then gestures at Genichiro to follow.

It is not an easy trek to Senpou Temple from here. Wolf’s prosthetic makes the traveling simpler, but it’s not without its obstacles. Genichiro will have to climb, and whatever stress this puts on his body is not Wolf’s responsibility. Even so, just before they reach the first cliffside they must scale, Wolf dips his hand into his bag to retrieve a candy.

Genichiro’s considering the rock wall when Wolf tosses the candy over to him. He catches it nearly too quickly. Wolf is reminded of jaws snapping shut.

“Ungo’s Sugar?” Genichiro asks, examining the candy. He glances up at Wolf for explanation.

Wolf looks pointedly at Genichiro’s shoulder. “I don’t want to carry you again.”

Genichiro frowns, no doubt irritated by the reminder of his helplessness, but he doesn’t argue. He places the candy in his mouth, laying it first on his tongue and then closing his lips around it. Wolf stares a second too long, then turns his attention back to their journey.

Where he is able to grapple up to the tree branch to get to the top of the rock face, Genichiro has to take a more difficult road. Wolf watches him from the top, unwilling to hover but interested to see just how _recovered_ he truly is. If he’s so determined to join Wolf, then he must prove he can make it.

Genichiro sizes up the rock wall, backing away. He takes two arrows out, gripping one in each hand, and then sprints forward. He leaps, his arms raised high, and plants the right arrowhead into a small crevice, using it to leverage himself higher, then does the same with the left. He digs his heels into the rock, takes a moment, then continues upwards.

He’s fast. He may not have the Sediment anymore, but he has lost none of the determination that made so many follow him as General.

It’s not long before Genichiro pulls himself up next to Wolf. Once he’s standing, he asks, hardly winded, “Where are we going?”

Wolf tears his gaze away from him, glancing in the direction of Senpou Temple. Genichiro hums once, rolling his shoulders back.

He takes the lead. Wolf doesn’t stop him.

 

“I worked with the assassins here,” Genichiro tells Wolf on the way to Mt. Kongo. “My grandfather did not approve of their presence…he took great pride in keeping Ashina’s traditions above all else.”  

Wolf doesn’t interrupt, all the while keeping an eye out for any Ministry agents. They seem to be in the clear so long as they stay away from Ashina Castle and the main roads leading towards it. Genichiro’s done well; he hasn’t faltered at all. He gives no sign that he was recently mortally wounded. What he lacks in silence and subtlety, he makes up for in listening when Wolf tells him to hush.

“I did not see a point in keeping Ashina’s traditions first when there could be no Ashina at all,” Genichiro goes on, voice darkening. “He built this land. Yet he would see it crumble by not exhausting every option? I didn’t understand.” He exhales, the heavy breath visible in the cold air. “I still don’t understand.”

Wolf doesn’t know what has prompted Genichiro into telling him all of this. He didn’t ask, yet Genichiro speaks freely as if he is happy to share all of his thoughts with Wolf. Maybe it is their new alliance. Maybe it is the eerie silence.

And that silence is the most unsettling thing – it sticks to their surroundings like thick honey, all the way up Mt. Kongo’s path to Senpou Temple. The snow gives way to trees with leaves of every warm color, but no birds dart through the sky and no game shifts through the brush. Even the patrolling groups of monks Wolf is so used to slipping past are not there. It certainly makes their trek painless, but Wolf is uncomfortable.

“I know you know what it is like,” Genichiro says, interrupting his thoughts. His voice softens. “To see your goal and chase it. At any cost.”

Genichiro stops, turning around to face him. Wolf slows, then pauses entirely. Something about the weight of his attention makes Wolf’s hackles rise, and he places one foot behind himself, ready, just in case.

“You cut through all of Ashina’s men, all of Ashina’s beasts,” Genichiro muses. “Somehow, a single shinobi’s worth in war is the same or more than every soldier I chose and every sacrifice I made.”

Wolf watches him carefully for any sign that he may be about to ready an arrow or call down lightning, but Genichiro only rakes his gaze slowly over him. He may as well be running his hands against Wolf’s body for the way Wolf _feels_ his eyes. The breeze is light, but it still sends leaves tumbling through the wind around them.

“What must it feel like, to be the pendulum that will swing back in Ashina’s favor?” Genichiro asks, his curiosity genuine.

“…You expect victory from me,” Wolf says. His pulse beats too loudly, too staccato.

Genichiro _laughs_. “How could I not with all that you’ve done? You are the Shinobi of Ashina.”

“Only for now.”

“Ah, yes,” Genichiro says, sobering, though his slight smile remains. “But I have you. For now.”

Neither move for a long moment. Wolf shakes himself from his stupor, walking past Genichiro. He makes the mistake of straying too close; Genichiro catches him by the arm before he is able to put space between them again. Wolf barely stops himself from drawing his blade.

Genichiro leans closer and waits a beat for Wolf to tilt his head toward him. Then he murmurs, “Do you trust me to walk at your back, Sekiro?”

Wolf wants to point out that Genichiro trusted Wolf to walk at his, but instead he answers, “Only for now.”

Genichiro’s lips press together funny at that. Wolf can still feel the warmth of his grip long after he lets him go.

It takes a moment, but Wolf finally looks forward again. “To the Mortal Blades,” he says, continuing on their path. The Inner Sanctum is still a while away yet.

Genichiro follows him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's like a road trip, but instead of going to a fun destination, they're walking into centipede hell.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets "corpses and centipedes and gore, oh my" sorts of gross.

“The black Mortal Blade,” Wolf says to Genichiro. “Tell me more.”

Genichiro is quiet for a moment, only following in Wolf’s footsteps over fallen leaves and bound bodies of the Mibu villagers. The first time they stumbled over one, Genichiro silently looked down upon the corpses with an unfathomable glint to his eye. Now, Wolf catches him sparing glances from time to time. There’s no shortage of bodies to spot among the heavy brush.

In the monks’ hunt for immortality, they stopped at nothing. Could Genichiro have embarked on the same path to become undying, if he had not chosen the Rejuvenating Sediment…?

 _Would_ he have…?

“What do you want to know?” Genichiro says finally.

“You told me its purpose,” Wolf says, raising his eyes to the dead end they’re approaching. Last time he had taken a different route, but all his previous entry points have been sealed. Only the cliffs remain. “How does it work?”

“A final desire. A dying wish.”

Wolf stops. Genichiro’s gaze is distant, the tautness of his jaw rueful.

“A mortal’s last breath, to bring about something greater,” Genichiro continues, staring out over Mt. Kongo’s deceitfully peaceful scenery. “It is another cycle – with death, life.”

“...What?”

“Grandfather died, and if my sacrifice had gone as I intended, I was slated for death next, so that I could summon him as he was when he brought Ashina her first glory.” Genichiro glances sidelong at Wolf. “I assume you cut him down like everyone else.”

Wolf’s brow furrows tighter.

“I expected nothing less of you,” Genichiro mutters, almost despite himself. He raises his voice as he goes on. “But that is why I believe you are the key to saving Ashina now. To have defeated my grandfather in his prime is no small feat. Whole armies could not say the same.”

“The Divine Heir’s power –”

Genichiro holds up his hand, halting anything more Wolf might have to say. “Lonely wolf,” he says, low. “Would you argue with your General, who knows your skill better than anyone?”

Wolf presses his tongue to the back of his teeth. There is lightning in Genichiro’s stance, a storm waiting to be unleashed within his pride. Wolf cannot help but think of each and every time he has cut into his flesh, landed a blow on his body, and spilled the blood from his veins. And, unbidden, he remembers how warm Genichiro’s breath was against his skin when they were so close, nights ago; he remembers the heated promise in his sharp eyes, trying to make sense of Wolf in the dark.

He’s used to seeing fire in the back of his mind. These are flames of a different kind, yet no less destructive.

Wolf takes Genichiro around the waist and pulls him close, feeling the other man stiffen up head-to-toe in his hold, then throws his left arm up towards the only branch sticking out from the mountainside. He yanks, hard enough for the mechanisms in the prosthetic to adjust to the new weight, and then throws himself and his passenger off from the ground and out into open air.

Genichiro clings to him. It would be almost amusing, if not for the way every muscle in his body _screams_ at the exertion as they go into the upswing.

Then Wolf releases the grapple.

The fall is long, but not fatal – Wolf lands in a massive pile of wrapped corpses, and gasps at the shock of the impact. Genichiro lands just as hard only inches away, and Wolf is suddenly glad that he decided to let go midway through their drop. If Genichiro fell on top of him, he’s not sure how unscathed he’d be.

Crickets scatter from the bodies as Wolf pushes himself out of hole he’s sunken into. Bones crack beneath his feet, flesh disgustingly soft under his hands, and the smell – it is like a stagnant riverbed, rotten and spilling out of the mouths of the dead. Wolf holds his breath and climbs.

“Why is it that you never use your words?” Genichiro manages, wading out from his own morbid pit. “Not even for _warnings_?”

Wolf tucks his amusement away, wiping blood-covered hands on his haori. Cleanliness became a lost cause when they tumbled into a corpse pile. “We’re almost there,” he says.

They’ve ended up on a ledge with several thin, wooden bridges leading up to the structure that houses the bell they must ring. There’s an ominous pressure coming down from the clouds, despite no storms in sight, but they can’t turn back now. The only way is forward.

Walking up the bridges left behind by the Senpou Assassins, silence remains. It’s when they reach the top that Wolf finally hears the distant hum of the monks’ murmuring, and yet even that is still less concerning than the quiet.

They sneak through thick, long grass and behind boulders to avoid being caught. There’s a group of several monks approaching, a much larger group than Wolf is used to seeing here, large enough that it would be unwise to fight them. He crouches low in the brush. They’re stuck between two tall cliffsides, much too tall to climb. The rock is smooth as if to spite Wolf’s grapple. They have to wait.

While Wolf kneels deeply in the grass, Genichiro must lay flat. Wolf glances back at him, once narrow-eyed to check he is close, then wide-eyed as he spots the blood seeping through his top.

Genichiro meets his gaze – his skin pale, a sheen of sweat on his forehead – and shakes his head once.

The monks are slow to pass them. With every second, Wolf watches the red spread further up Genichiro’s shoulder, creeping higher onto his neck. He looks more and more exhausted by the moment, and Wolf cannot risk having to drag him back to their temple once more. Not here. Carefully, with movements as sedate as he can make them, Wolf reaches into his pouch and sifts through for his pellet case.

It’s almost quiet enough not to draw attention. A few of the monks pause, heads tipped to listen closely, and Wolf’s heartbeat thuds in his ears. He feels fingers on his wrist, then looks without moving to see Genichiro holding him still.

Much longer and the pellets may not do any good. Genichiro’s hand is sticky with the blood from his reopened wound, but Wolf’s given his word. He can’t let him die here.

The monks keep moving. When they’re a distance enough away, Genichiro’s fingers slip off of Wolf’s wrist and Wolf hastily – but steadily – empties three pellets out into his palm, crawling closer, all the way to Genichiro’s side. The soil will stain the knees of his hakama, but Genichiro’s blood will never come out.

“Roll over,” Wolf urges him quietly, satisfied when Genichiro does not question the order. He cradles Genichiro’s head against his knee to keep him from lying flat, then cups his jaw with his prosthetic hand. “Open.”

Genichiro’s eyes stay on his as Wolf places one pellet into his mouth. He continues staring at Wolf throughout the second and the last, lips brushing Wolf’s fingers each time he withdraws. Wolf takes his healing gourd from his hip and puts it to Genichiro’s mouth, eye contact finally broken as Genichiro shuts his eyes to drink.

Genichiro sighs when he is finished, Wolf quickly – silently – putting his things away.

“You have terrible bedside manner,” Genichiro says, scathing yet quiet.

“Manners cannot heal a wound,” Wolf murmurs. He has to lean down to keep his voice soft.

Genichiro sighs again, his good arm raised up to tangle fingers through Wolf’s scarf, drawing him closer. “I could not demand your deference for myself,” he whispers, though he doesn’t sound regretful.

He sounds…glad, somehow.

“You are not my lord,” Wolf agrees, hardly louder than a breath.

It is Genichiro who tightens his hand on the nape of Wolf’s neck and it is Wolf who closes the space to press their lips together. In that way, it is a decision they make together, both at the same time. Wolf bites because Genichiro has not tamed him, but from the little exhale that washes over Wolf’s cheek afterwards, Wolf thinks that Genichiro likes him better that way.

He presses gentle fingers over Genichiro’s wounded shoulder, turning his face into Genichiro’s jaw. The grass tickles him, moving in the breeze, brushing against his skin.

“The bleeding has stopped,” says Wolf into Genichiro’s ear, only partially distracted by Genichiro’s heavy hand massaging deeply into the muscle of his neck – less, Wolf thinks, because he wants to put Wolf at ease, and more so that he can put _himself_ at ease. It also has the unwelcome side effect of putting Wolf’s mind elsewhere.

“How much further?” Genichiro asks, hushed.

Wolf swallows his desire. “We’re close.”

Genichiro slowly pulls away from Wolf. Wolf doesn’t stop to wonder if Genichiro watches him as he goes, he simply moves up to scout ahead while Genichiro rights himself. There’s only one monk waiting, his back turned as he walks up the long flight of stairs leading higher, and Wolf finds it all too easy to slip behind him and sink his blade into his back.

The monk’s body drops onto the staircase with a thud, just as Genichiro’s footsteps follow behind him.

“I haven’t been this far up Mt. Kongo in a long time,” Genichiro says, stepping over the dead monk. He follows Wolf up the stairs.

“Not even when seeking their assistance?” Wolf asks, checking the area before walking up to the large doors into the shrine. The bell glimmers patiently in the light, dead crickets crunching beneath his shoes.

Genichiro doesn’t have the chance to answer, a hiss above their heads interrupting their conversation. Wolf quickly steps back as a large centipede drops from the ceiling onto the floor in front of them, the long creature writhing blindly towards them. It flips itself over in a flash, then coils as if about to lunge.

Before Wolf can so much as lift his sword, an arrow pins the insect in place, and two more follow. The centipede hisses its outrage, legs skittering every which way, but the arrows keep it where it is.

He looks to his side to see Genichiro holding his bow, another arrow on the loose string, ready.

“You’ll open the wound again,” Wolf says.

Genichiro’s grimace flattens out. “Then we should hurry up, shouldn’t we?”

He’s right. Wolf goes around the centipede that squabbles all the while, picking the bell up delicately. Genichiro walks up next to him, looking this way and that, suspicious of each far away cricket chirp and every odd creak in the old wood.

Wolf raises the bell, holding a hand up in front of himself, just as every time before. He closes his eyes, then rings the bell a single time.

The first journey he took into the Halls of Illusion, it felt like holding a chilly breath in his lungs and as he leapt into warm water. This time, it is as if the very air itself wants to choke him.

Wolf wrenches his eyes open as soon as the echoing chime of the bell fades into nothing. The cold landscape remains the same, but he has only a second to take in his surroundings before the monk who stays here in this illusion falls into his arms. Wolf stumbles back to catch him, dropping his blade with a sharp clatter. The monk is lighter than Wolf expects, his head lolling against Wolf’s shoulder.

“Why,” he groans, ribs rattling where Wolf holds onto him, “have you returned? There is nothing left…”

His breath smells like rot.

It is all the warning Wolf gets before the monk’s jaw unhinges, face tearing open with an awful wet, ripping noise as a centipede bursts upwards and out of his mouth. Wolf shoves the monk back, but not fast enough; the centipede lunges, curling around Wolf’s throat tightly, its spindly legs catching on his clothing as it climbs onto him, restricting his arms, his breath. Gore caked on its trunk smears against his skin, the vice around his neck tight enough to strangle. Wolf hears the chattering hiss right next to his ear, black slowly overtaking his vision.

“ _Pests_ –!”

Genichiro’s angry shout precedes an angrier slash of a blade. The centipede falls limply from Wolf’s neck, sliced clean in half. Wolf sucks in a breath, putting a hand to his throat reflexively, only to come away with a handful of his cut-through scarf.

“I couldn’t risk being overly precise,” Genichiro explains. Wolf stares at the blade in his grip – it’s his – and then at the centipede, still hissing on the ground. Genichiro holds the sword out to him. “I thought you severed immortality,” he adds, peering meaningfully down at the centipede’s efforts to find its other half.

Wolf kicks one half the centipede further away, then takes the sword, discarding his ruined scarf. “I did,” he says, strained, then coughs. “Something is wrong.”

Genichiro hums his agreement, though the way he seems to examine the body of the monk sets Wolf on edge. Wolf sheathes his blade, then grabs Genichiro’s wrist tightly.

It’s enough. Genichiro looks at him instead. Whatever Genichiro sees in Wolf’s face, it makes his eyes harden.

“ _I_ will save your Ashina,” Wolf vows.

Genichiro’s gaze does not leave him. Not even when the nearest half of the centipede begins to squirm again, attempting to close in on them. Genichiro stomps the head of it into the floor. Wolf doesn’t so much as flinch.

“Do as you say,” Genichiro says flatly.

Wolf’s hand leaves a ring of red around Genichiro’s wrist when he releases him, but Genichiro doesn’t yet pull away. He slowly reaches out, lightly wiping gore from Wolf’s face. It appears as if he has something more to say, but nothing comes; he only takes hold of Wolf’s jaw and looks at him appraisingly, silently.

Wolf stares at him without a word until Genichiro drops his hold. Wolf’s throat feels dry, something burning in his chest.

“Let’s continue,” Wolf says, turning away. “You must meet the Divine Child.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Wolf sees Genichiro cast a single glance back to the fallen monk.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is an absolute miracle that I am posting this chapter on time. I was brutally sick for the past week. Annnyways, please enjoy.

The Inner Sanctum writhes.

Centipedes, large and small, swarm the once-safe haven. They scuttle across the ground, hissing as they scrabble across one another, legs scrambling for purchase against tough shells. The ground itself shifts and moves like an ocean of black exoskeleton and legs.

Wolf prepares himself for a long fight, his blade in hand. Genichiro notches three arrows between his fingers.

Yet none of the centipedes strike at them. The insects squirm around their ankles, but the jaws do nothing more than bump and brush at them. The disgust that roils Wolf’s stomach gives way to relief when he steps forward through the skittering horde and no tendril-like bodies wrap ‘round him. The centipedes only blindly thrash.

The harvest is thinning, and immortality has been severed. They have no hosts. Wolf can’t imagine they have much longer if they can’t even hunt for a body properly.

Though Wolf itches from the many pointed feet that graze him, he pushes forward without flinching. Genichiro follows, his bowstring not quite so tense once Wolf lowers his sword.

The constant scurrying around them makes for an unsettling backdrop of noise as they silently near the temple. To make a sound themselves would be to invite the insects to seek them out; better that neither of them say a word. Better that they don’t speak of it at all. The temple steps are clear of any centipedes, save for a few. The ones that have managed to keep from rolling off the wooden stairs are small enough that Wolf feels nothing is amiss when he crushes the stragglers beneath his shoes.

Genichiro seems pensive when Wolf glances up at him. He meets Wolf’s gaze and shakes his head. “They would do anything to survive,” Genichiro remarks.

“The ‘pests’?” Wolf asks, unable to help the dry edge to his tone.

Genichiro’s lips quirk, though his face is wan from earlier blood loss. “Even pests have a use.”

Wolf faces ahead again, finishing the climb to the temple. He’s worried that the centipedes have infested even here, but inside the hissing is distant and the Divine Child waits, her eyes wide as she wheels around from her place in front of the candles.

“Oh, Shinobi,” she gasps in relief, then spots Genichiro and stiffens. “If you have come for rice…”

“No,” Wolf interrupts, closing the distance between them. He kneels, looking up at her solemnly. “We are here for the Mortal Blades.”

This close, he can see that she is weary. Exhaustion lines her young face, her eyes dull and hair covered by a hood, but her jaw is set strong. She appears as if she is prepared to abandon this cursed place, and they’ve interrupted her. The clicking insects outside are more than enough reason for her to go, though Wolf thinks that anything that has happened to her in her short life would be grounds for running away from here.

“I see,” the Divine Child says, glancing behind Wolf to Genichiro. It doesn’t seem she can help it. He cuts an imposing figure. “You…you have been touched by the Rejuvenating Waters as well. No…the Sediment.”

Wolf does not look at Genichiro, but he can hear him shift his stance foot-to-foot. “No longer,” Genichiro says bluntly. “It has been purged.”

“Willingly…?” The Divine Child shakes her head, turning her attention back to Wolf. “No, never mind. You are here for the Mortal Blades.” She smiles, but it trembles and falls. “I’m sorry. You brought them to me for safekeeping…But I don’t have them.”

Wolf stills. “What?”

“The Interior Ministry climbed this mountain yesterday…Many of the Senpou monks tried to stop them, but they could not.” The Divine Child places a hand against the shrine, seeking comfort. “I apologize, I could not protect them –”

“The Ministry.”

Genichiro’s voice cuts through the air like an arrow. Both Wolf and the Divine Child look at him. He stands rigid and tall, and Wolf is reminded, again: he is a General.

“Where did they take the Mortal Blades?” Genichiro asks.

“I cannot say for sure, but they spoke of Ashina Castle.”

“Ashina Castle…” Genichiro casts his gaze outside. “And the swarm. Is this because of the Ministry as well, then?”

“Oh…somewhat. Many of the monks that the Ministry cut down were…infested.” The Divine Child’s brows furrow as she speaks, glancing down. “These centipedes are dying without them. Every living thing yearns to survive. Yet now that the Waters have turned to mud in them, they’re rotting from the inside.” She looks up, staring at Genichiro. “Immortality is a weight around one’s ankles. You forget the fear of death. But that fear is a good thing, isn’t it?”

Wolf watches Genichiro’s expression flash dark, then smooth out into something more contemplative.

“That fear can become an obstacle to that which you desire most,” Genichiro answers finally. “That which you _need_.”

He turns around, walking to the entrance of the temple and waiting there. Wolf watches him go, the Divine Child silent for a long moment. Eventually, she sighs and shakes her head.

“That is the curse of immortality,” she murmurs. “I suppose you’ll be going now? We’ll pray for your continued safety.”  

“Come with us,” Wolf says.

The Divine Child blinks, then softens. “I was going to leave today, after all that has happened,” she says, sorrowful. “It is a timely blessing you happened to arrive…thank you, Shinobi.”

He carries her out of the Inner Sanctum, raising her high above the sea of centipedes as they cross. She holds onto him carefully, as if at first afraid to grip too tightly, but then Wolf realizes she’s not afraid; she is simply trying to be polite. He wonders how she was made to be a rueful facsimile, how many of these infested creatures she must have faced before the immortality took.

Genichiro doesn’t so much as say a word about their newcomer, but he does a wonderful job of kicking away any unruly bugs that get too close to the Divine Child, who looks mournfully back at the shrine the whole way out.

 

Emma checks the Divine Child over for any injuries and announces that she’s in perfect health, though the Divine Child admits she’s starving. Given a pile of persimmons, she’s perfectly content sitting in the Dilapidated Temple. Beside a single candle, she eats in silence after assuring Wolf that she doesn’t mind being alone.

Wolf steals a glance at her through the entry. Emma stands with him, quiet and thoughtful.

“Does she remind you of…” Emma begins, then trails off. “No. I’m sorry.”

Emma’s not wrong, but it’s unfair to say aloud. She is not Kuro, and it’s cruel to think otherwise, considering the monks’ goal was for her to be just like Kuro.

Better that it goes unsaid.

“She’ll be safe here,” Wolf says.

His skin still itches as if something’s crawling beneath it. He needs to bathe, which means he must head to the river before the sun goes down. He dismisses himself, leaving Emma chatting with the Divine Child, as he heads off.

When Wolf arrives at the river’s edge, Genichiro is already there, standing waist-deep in the water. His hair is down, his wound an angry red, though it’s no longer bleeding. Judging by the clothes and gear draped over a nearby rock, he’s completely disrobed beneath the water. A coiled pressure tightens in Wolf’s gut.

It should mean nothing. It should change nothing.

But Wolf can still feel the ghost of Genichiro’s heavy hand massaging at the back of his neck.

He meets Genichiro’s gaze, intense and already set upon him. There’s a challenge in those eyes, not unlike every other time that Wolf has faced off with him. A challenge to push forward, to face him, to press on.

It’s a battle of wills. Whose desire is stronger?

Wolf unwraps the bindings around his arms, slowly, slowly. He loosens his shoes and toes those off, hakama free to be removed. He props his sword up next to the rock, beside Genichiro’s bow; then he removes his prosthetic. Each additional piece of his gear he takes off, he places down with care. As Wolf strips down to nothing, he feels less bare than he feels daring. It’s as if he’s leaping off that cliffside with Genichiro again – but this time, there’s no grapple to hold them. This time, if someone lets go, they both fall down.

His final action is to pull his hair free of its tie. It falls loose around his shoulders. Genichiro does not take his eyes from Wolf’s face, not even then, and Wolf can’t help but think of the centipede, pinned by an arrow on the wooden temple floor.

He steps into the water until it’s up to his stomach, just within reach of Genichiro. It’s warmer – more comfortable – today, heated by the sun. Though, it’s likely that a cold bath is what the both of them need.

“Shinobi of Ashina,” Genichiro says, breaking the pressure-heavy silence. “I must command something of you.”

Wolf tilts his head up to look him in the face. “Yes.”

“Join me at Ashina Castle. Retrieve the Mortal Blades with me,” Genichiro says, wading closer with every word. “Between the both of us, it can be done, no matter the number that opposes us.”

“Yes.”

“And you will aid me every step along the way, until our deal is fulfilled.”

“Yes.”

Genichiro stands over him, incensed and restless, a breath away. Wolf is patient enough to wait, though he yearns to be anything but. Genichiro reaches out, tucking a crooked finger beneath Wolf’s chin, his thumb against Wolf’s throat, just over his hammering pulse point.

“...And right now,” Genichiro murmurs, the lazy babble of the river nearly drowning his voice outright, “I will have you.”

Wolf curls his fingers around Genichiro’s wrist in a loose grip. “Yes.”

He is oh-so-willing as he stretches upward to meet Genichiro halfway, kissing him with that same biting urgency, tenfold now that he is no longer thinking of monks stumbling upon them or Genichiro’s shoulder dripping blood. Now it is nothing more than a river between them, and it is Genichiro’s hands grabbing him by the hips as he bows low to eat him alive, and it is Wolf’s teeth in Genichiro’s lower lip, tugging and licking when Genichiro growls back at him. He’s an overgrown cat, soothed as soon as Wolf takes his touch to his spine and pets.

Not that it is gentle. It’s somewhere in the middle of catharsis but on the verge of ruin. They both want this, but they want something else more, something out of reach right now – so this, baring themselves, touching each other, grabbing at a tenable _thing_ –

It’s the best they can do, for now.

Genichiro backs Wolf up until he’s stumbling backwards out of the river. He snatches up his shirt from the rock and tosses it on the soil, which is kind of him – but Wolf turns them around so Genichiro lays flat on top of it. His hair is a soaking mess, his eyes a wildfire. He looks as if he’s ready for a fight, though this is not exactly a battle.

Wolf crawls on top of him and kisses him again, holding him down with his hand braced on his wide chest. That Genichiro allows this is not charity, Wolf thinks, but rather a confession of how very _much_ he wants. Wolf takes it as a compliment.

“Don’t open your wound again,” Wolf says harshly against his mouth.

“Poor timing for such a warning,” Genichiro mutters, though he’s quieted when Wolf rocks his hips forward, searching for friction against him. Genichiro sucks in a sharp breath once Wolf sits up straight and gives a shuddering exhale as Wolf takes both their hard lengths in hand and finds the right position for both their satisfaction.

Wolf moves. Every rolling motion of his hips sends heat spiraling through his stomach, burning in his gut, and from Genichiro’s thrown-back head and tiny breaths, Wolf is sure he’s not alone. This is as quick as it is dirty, leaf litter sticking to Wolf’s knees and any slide the water granted giving way to precum. Still, that’s not enough. Wolf spits into his palm and keeps at it.

Genichiro stares up at him all the while, his half-lidded gaze as hot as a brand on Wolf’s body.

So it may be quick and it may be dirty, but it’s good and it’s _needed_. Wolf is trembling by the time that Genichiro grabs him by the sides, big hands holding him tightly, helping him with the rhythm. When Genichiro breathes a rough, “ _Sekiro_ ,” and his muscles wind up tight, Wolf chases that pleasure, feeling Genichiro go tense beneath him. He spills into Wolf’s hand not a moment later, between his fingers; Wolf strokes his hand on them only two, three more times, Genichiro’s grip on his waist like a vice, before he follows after him, marking Genichiro’s chest with his mess.

They breathe. Wolf releases them both, his skin overwarm, the dripping water on his nape replaced with sweat. Genichiro doesn’t let go of him, only loosening the hold until it’s no longer bruising.

Slowly, Wolf smears some of the come away from Genichiro’s chest. There’s still dried blood flaking from his upper chest, his shoulder. He hasn’t cleaned it yet. Wolf takes one final, foggy-headed breath.

“Allow me,” Wolf says, pushing himself off of Genichiro. He gestures to his shoulder – it needs washing, and if Genichiro strains himself trying to get to the difficult spots, then he’s more likely to rip it open. _Again_.

Genichiro paints an indignant picture, despite how his hair has matted funny and he’s still deeply flushed…and, of course, there’s no small amount of mess remaining on his chest. Wolf expects him to reject the offer, from pride or ability, he doesn’t know.

Though it takes a moment, Genichiro finally nods curtly, and Wolf leads him back to the water. He never did bathe. Now seems as good a time as any once he’s done with Genichiro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genichiro, post-orgasm thought process: (content silence for .5 seconds) (That’s not how I thought this was going to go) (Not that I’m complaining) (Ashina–)


	8. Chapter 8

The next day, as the sun sits right above them in the sky, Genichiro beckons Wolf to join him for lunch. Their fish and rice become a side dish to the main course, though: planning an infiltration of Ashina Castle.

“You’ve done it before,” Genichiro says. “Tell me how.”

Wolf starts from the gate and speaks of Nightjar signals and rooftop paths before finishing with the final ascent. As he trails off, Genichiro’s eyes flash with the memory of their fight, then he rubs his chin between thumb and forefinger, quietly considering. Satisfied enough with his own retelling, Wolf takes a bite of his food, chewing patiently.

“It is not a trail most could take,” Genichiro murmurs eventually.

Wolf swallows his mouthful. “Most are not shinobi.”

Genichiro mutters something beneath his breath, too quietly for Wolf to hear, but Wolf can feel him watching the prosthetic. A fitting fang for a starving wolf, yes. Now it is a honed fang for a loyal wolf.

His skin buzzes with restlessness. All he needs is the black Mortal Blade. If they’re going to invade Ashina Castle tonight, then he should have the weapon in his hand by sunrise. Kuro will be saved. Ashina will stop burning.

It’s then that Wolf realizes he has not seen fire in his dreams in a while. Long enough ago that it stopped occurring to him.

Frowning, he takes another bite and chews that over instead.

“We will take the Mortal Blades to Hirata Estate,” Genichiro suddenly says.

Wolf nearly drops his chopsticks, looking at Genichiro.

“If the rest of Ashina survives, it is my responsibility to bring them home,” Genichiro goes on, firm. “We will go to Hirata. Those who wish to fight may fight. Those who wish to hide may hide. But they will all be given a chance to push back against the filth seeping into their land.”

Wolf’s brief flicker of emotion must appear in his eyes, in the cut of his brow, because Genichiro meets his gaze and pointedly adds, “You promised to aid me in saving Ashina. Our deal remains. Your goal comes next.”

Wolf settles. “Yes.”

Genichiro nods, though his food is yet untouched. He seems lost in thought again already, no doubt picturing Hirata and all its ins and outs. Wolf has relived that memory more recently than Genichiro, likely. They should have no trouble.

So Wolf points down at Genichiro’s food and says, “Eat, or your stomach might give us away later.”

Genichiro snaps his affronted look towards Wolf in a way not unlike he’d looked at him after their…interaction…beside the river. Genichiro almost appears as if he could sulk as he picks up his own chopsticks, glaring Wolf’s way.

“You spent far too much time with my grandfather,” he accuses.

Wolf only pops another bite in his mouth.

They part ways to prepare themselves for the coming trial. Wolf visits the shrine Hanbei once stood beside, ensuring it is kept clean, then makes his heads back to his small corner of the temple. Collecting his things, he’s attaching his sword to his hip when he hears the shuffling of shoes against leaves and the tentative pause that comes before words.

“You’re leaving for the castle tonight, aren’t you?” the Divine Child asks, approaching a little closer. Looking up at her, Wolf nods. Her smile softens. “We will pray for your safety. It will not be easy, I expect.”

“Thank you,” Wolf says. He reaches into his pack to check his pellet case, then pauses as his fingers brush the small offering that the Crow’s Mob merchant had given him. He’s opened it time after time, and he’s considered taking it to the spot where Kusabimaru stands tall out of the soil, gifting it to what remains, but if Kuro is returning, he doesn’t need this offering.

Even if Kuro doesn’t need it, Wolf can think of many children who do.

“Here,” he adds, taking the loosely-covered offering out and handing it over to the Divine Child.

“Oh…?”

As she opens the folded cloth, revealing the pretty pinwheel inside, Wolf watches her face shift – through surprise, through sorrow, and finally, through thankfulness. Her shrine is lost to her, the place where so many like her did not make it, but with this she has a reminder. With this, she has something to keep precious to herself and to them.

“Thank you,” the Divine Child finally says, her eyes shining with unshed tears. One hand fists the cloth covering; the other holds the stick tightly, her knuckles white with the strength of her grip.

The pinwheel spins once in the light breeze. A bright, free smile immediately lights upon the Divine Child’s mouth, despite her wet eyes.

“We will return,” Wolf promises her as she clutches at the pinwheel. She nods emphatically, touching one point of the pinwheel gently, reverentially.

Wolf finds Emma next to the Crow’s Mob merchant. They pause their conversation as he nears, Emma waving lightly at him. “Are you leaving now?” she asks.

“Before sundown,” Wolf says. He bows politely at the merchant. “Thank you for your aid.”

“It is business,” says the merchant, then hums. “And…it is responsibility.” Above him, crows cackle at each other as if agreeing.

“It is appreciated,” Emma adds, no doubt thinking of how their supplies have been so bolstered since his arrival. She looks at Wolf again. “I wanted to ask…” She trails off, uncertain, then shakes it off. “…Do you know the cost of the black Mortal Blade?”

The question is one he’s been preparing to answer – he should have known it would be Emma asking it. Genichiro is well aware of the lengths Wolf is prepared to go for the sake of Kuro, and while they had shared their plan with Emma, no one had spoken aloud of the Open Gate’s payment.

They would all be fools not to be aware. But just because it has remained unspoken does not mean it is not very real.

“…Yes,” Wolf says, slow.

Emma’s lips thin. She doesn’t say anything at first, only looking over him with something unfathomable. Wolf stands up straight in the wake of her silent appraisal – gentle as her criticism may be, there must be no room for doubt that he is prepared for what must happen.

“Well,” Emma says, soft. “I wish you safety tonight.”

Wolf’s shoulders fall from their tense hold. He nods at Emma after a long moment. “Please look after the Divine Child.”

Emma smiles slightly. “You know, she is a natural for physician work.”

A shadow falls over them from the entrance of the temple. Both look – Genichiro stands in the entryway, a silhouette of jagged armor and a bow over his back. He cuts quite the figure. Wolf catches himself looking a moment too long.

Intimidating and rapturous, Genichiro walks into the temple, giving Emma a respectful nod and Wolf a hard stare.

“Are you ready?” Genichiro asks.

Wolf doesn’t need to ask if _he’s_ ready. He rests a hand on his blade’s hilt. “I am.”

“Then let us go, Shinobi of Ashina.” Genichiro turns, striding out of the temple as quickly as he’d appeared, like a vengeful spirit.

Wolf watches after him. Kuro _will_ be saved. Ashina _will_ stop burning.

And – so long as Sekiro continues to demand it – Genichiro Ashina will live.

 

Ashina Castle smells of smoke and burnt remains. Wolf reaches up to his neck to pull his scarf over his nose before he remembers that the scarf lays, ruined and forlorn, in the Hall of Illusions. Red-garbed soldiers line the streets, deconstructed walls and buildings thrown into fiery piles. Wolf scales the rooftops with care, unwilling to draw their eye. Genichiro mirrors him across the street, lurking above the Ministry’s men as if only waiting for the right moment.

Wolf hopes he is not so blinded by his passion that he would leap down below. If either of them still had the power of the Divine Dragon on their side, then they could rid the area of all the soldiers, street by street. Now they are not so fortunate to have that advantage.

So they skulk in the night…for now.

Wolf slips along the edge of the roof, keeping himself low and flat to match the shadows. He cannot see Genichiro from here, head ducked as it is, but from the silence he expects that Genichiro must be sneaking well enough. It’s for the best; he doesn’t know what might happen if the Ministry realizes Isshin Ashina’s grandson still lives and breathes.

Despite Genichiro staying quiet well, he doesn’t keep pace. Wolf has to wait to see the telltale point of a bow over the rooftop’s arch before he clambers up to the next rooftop. He’ll need to grapple to the next. Surely Genichiro can find a foothold that allows him to make the jump alone. Attempting to spot Genichiro’s vantage point from here, Wolf takes a step to the side.  

Metal whistling through the air, a slick _thud_ , and the shine of steel embedded next to Wolf’s foot – it’s all more than enough of a warning before he whirls around, his sword raised just in time against the blade coming down against him. The impact sends him skidding back a few inches, further up the rooftop’s incline. Wolf pushes back against the purple-striped ninja, then dodges the kick that flies his way.

Wolf readies his sword, breathing slowly. Behind him, there’s a soft, shifting sound, like cloth settling. He doesn’t dare glance towards the other ninja that has just dropped onto the rooftop.

He’s outnumbered, and he has only one life.

They leap at him at the same time, from the front and the back. Wolf ducks away to give himself space, up the slant of the rooftop. He hops backwards when a sword nearly cuts through his ankle, almost shearing off the wraps there, then has to quickly deflect the slice at his throat. He dodges past a kick only to take the second heel squarely in the ribs, all his breath leaving him at once. Wolf stifles his cough as he balances at the top of the roof.

They spare him nothing. It’s a flurry of motion, a rush of clashing metal. Wolf’s heart beats louder with each sharp strike. He can feel himself flagging as they push him back towards the edge of the rooftop, or perhaps they’re moving faster and faster, playing with their food.

One catches his blade beneath their own and shoves upward, opening Wolf’s front up for a thrust. When the second ninja makes the move, Wolf blocks it with his prosthetic, catching the sword between the imitation bone a breath away. He can feel the pointed tip of the blade against his stomach.

Wolf twists his arm to yank the sword from the ninja’s hands, but he’s not quick enough to stop the other’s slash from connecting with his side.

Stumbling back, Wolf bites on his tongue to quell the gasp of pain. Just as the second ninja draws another knife to finish the job, he goes stiff and falls forward, rolling down the rooftop past Wolf, three arrows sticking out of him.

The other ninja glances back for all of a second, just long enough for Wolf to thrust forward and sink his blade between his ribs. He digs his sword in deeper, huffing as the ninja lolls against the sword limply, then rips the sword out and drops the body onto the roof.

Wolf cleans the blood from his sword with two quick swipes against his sleeve. He looks again at the arrows in the ninja’s corpse, checking the angles, then turns his gaze higher.

Genichiro stands far above Wolf on another rooftop, his bow in hand and two familiar sheaths on his back. It would be a lie to say he expected Genichiro’s assistance. Genichiro left the rest of the Castle untouched to find those blades and ensure Wolf’s safety, despite Genichiro’s burning desire to save his land from the very ones inside these castle walls. With steady hands, Wolf picks a pellet from his case and eats it, then presses his hand over his side to staunch the bleeding.

Without the moon casting its light on his face, it is impossible to tell what Genichiro may be thinking, but when he jerks his head to the side, Wolf understands: _we’re leaving_.

He sheaths his sword and follows Genichiro step for step; even injured, he catches up to him one rooftop away from relative safety. Wolf walks towards him, his eyes settling a moment too long on the black Mortal Blade’s sheath behind Genichiro.

“How badly were you injured?” Genichiro says stiffly, watching Wolf approach.

Wolf pulls his hand away from his side gingerly. Though his palm is red with blood, it’s dry. “It’s fine.”

Genichiro’s teeth flash once as he takes Wolf’s wrist, pulling his hand further away so he can inspect it himself. “Hm,” is all he says.

“It’s only a cut,” Wolf insists. He waits as Genichiro looks him over again, staying pliant as Genichiro steps closer. “…Where were the Mortal Blades?”

“I expected they would not know the power these weapons wield,” Genichiro says absently. “They were in my grandfather’s collection, along with everything else he kept over the years.”

Wolf licks his dry lips as Genichiro presses fingers over the ragged, bloodstained opening in his haori and top. He realizes too late that Genichiro is watching his face now, not his injury, and when their lips meet it is with an unexpected hunger – subdued, but present enough to spark warmth against Wolf’s skin.

The pellet has left his mouth chalky, but that’s quickly forgotten as Wolf takes the back of his neck to keep him close, as Wolf licks against Genichiro’s teeth. Genichiro seems surprised for a moment, a tiny sound slipping between their lips, muffled into Wolf’s mouth, but he doesn’t bow out. He kisses Wolf in turn, pressing closer, Wolf’s fingers digging into the nape of his neck and one of Genichiro’s hands settling onto Wolf’s hip as if to keep him – or himself – steady.

Wolf draws back only when he wants to breathe. To see Genichiro’s face flushed is a pleasant surprise.

“I did not intend for…” Genichiro manages, straightening up. He doesn’t let go of Wolf’s waist, but his thumb must brush Wolf’s leaking wound, because he glances down. “Fool,” he snaps. “You’re bleeding again.”

Wolf feels uncomfortably aware of their role reversal. “It’s fine,” he repeats, skin still prickling hot. He steps away, Genichiro’s hand falling away. “Hirata Estate, then?”

Genichiro studies him with sharp eyes. “...Hirata Estate.”

Wolf jumps off the rooftop, Genichiro landing next to him a second later. They leave Ashina Castle behind, but Wolf pretends not to notice Genichiro casting a glance back at it as they go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you hate it when you just want to bang your frenemy on a rooftop in a burning castle but your opposing personal ambitions kill the mood?
> 
> Two more chapters, friends. Thanks for sticking with me. :)
> 
> EDIT: Just so everyone knows, it is likely that the next chapter will be posted a bit late. I'm running a ShinDrifter ship week on Twitter, and also have been slammed with work. That said, please don't think this fic will be abandoned :) I have the final chapters outlined and prepared, just not fully written yet. It shall be done. Thank you for your patience.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing last week's update! I have been crazy busy, and trying to do ShinDrift Week, and also maybe preparingtoplayShadowbringershahaha, ANYWAY. One more chapter...

They stick to backroads on their journey to Hirata, following the river’s edge while they attempt to avoid the gaze of the watchful Ministry. It’s only a matter of time before the rest of the ninja realize they’re down in number. The arrows won’t be a complete giveaway, but Wolf would not be surprised if the Ministry realizes that Isshin Ashina’s grandson is still alive and working against them thanks to those unique arrowheads. Better then that they take the long way around rather than attempt a shortcut and find themselves stepping right into a snare.

The night is thick for a while yet, but for a shinobi, it’s only an advantage. Wolf takes the lead and every so often, Genichiro brushes his hand against Wolf’s arm or back to keep himself on Wolf’s heels. It’s a distraction Wolf doesn’t need, but an indulgence he doesn’t refuse.

As the sky begins to lighten, so does the frayed tension weighing them down. Genichiro stays close and Wolf lets him. He doesn’t so much as let his thoughts flicker towards the very real possibility that Genichiro could slip a blade between his ribs oh-so-easily like this. It’s a sad, aching knowledge that Wolf welcome the proximity, if not the cold bite of steel.

“After Hirata, we storm Ashina Castle,” Genichiro says, breaking the silence, sounding as if his thoughts have been occupied by this for the entirety of the hours they’ve been traveling. “We take back the land. We will show them they should fear Ashina, not only for her divine power, but for the blood we spill. For the strength we wield.”

Wolf slows until Genichiro is walking next to him. “It shall be done,” he agrees. It feels as if the same words have passed his lips a dozen times, yet Wolf feels more and more convinced each time Genichiro rallies him to the idea.

“I do not think of failure,” Genichiro adds, though he seems to catch himself. “I did not, until _you_. You brought me to my knees too many times.”

He doesn’t sound bitter. Regretful, yes…that he was not strong enough. Unhappy, yes…that he could not prove himself better. But not bitter. Understanding, perhaps.

Wolf looks sidelong at him. “You are but a man.”

Genichiro’s jaw twitches. “For all my effort…”

They both slow, then stop altogether. Trees rustle overhead, the leaves laughing at the pair of them.

“You will have your Ashina,” Wolf says. Another promise, another vow, another reminder of their deal.

Genichiro only raises his chin, peering down at him from above. “And you? What will you have?”

It’s an unkind question. The sharp glitter in Genichiro’s eyes says that it is _meant_ to be unkind. Even so – Wolf does not balk. Sometimes honesty is the least kind thing of all.

“Lord Kuro will be saved,” Wolf says. “That is enough.”

Genichiro brings his hand up to rest at the side of Wolf’s neck; his thumb presses to the hollow of Wolf’s throat, the weight of his palm hot and heavy. Wolf blinks slowly at him, unyielding, but then leans into the touch as Genichiro’s hold tightens.

“At a price,” Genichiro murmurs.

_At no price that matters_ , Wolf thinks, but then his mouth is occupied as Genichiro leans down, his kiss hungry and demanding, and Wolf wonders how it is that Genichiro can be so desperate for _this_ when he’ll have what he wants – Ashina – so soon. As for himself, Wolf has no such qualms, no concern. He will pay the entire whole of his being, and so he falls into the heat of Genichiro’s mouth all too easily.

If his willingness surprises Genichiro, he does not show it. If nothing else, it simply fans the fire. There’s always been some coyness to Genichiro’s touch, to the way his lips part against Wolf’s. Wolf has always chalked it up to unsurety, or the reality that either of them could at any moment find something sharp to jam into the other’s back. Now, Wolf thinks it has more to do with an inexperience borne of single-minded desire for other things. It’s unsurprising when Genichiro is such a dedicated general, a loyal heir to the land.

But it doesn’t matter, in the end. Wolf presses forward until he’s on his tiptoes, pushing Genichiro against the wide trunk of a tree as he drinks his kisses down eagerly. Genichiro makes a sound, releases Wolf as he undoes everything keeping all the variety of weapons on his person. Wolf blindly eases off Genichiro’s bow, quickly throwing himself back to him. He puts his arms around Genichiro’s back again, clutching, then finds his hands gripping the sheath of a blade that feels like…  

“Take it,” Genichiro mutters against his mouth. “If it is what you want.”

Wolf closes his fingers around the black Mortal Blade’s sheath, feels out the intricate design along the side, the etched warnings there that beg for mercy and care whenever the sword is drawn. He holds onto it tightly, shuts his eyes, feels Genichiro’s body tense against his own.

Genichiro’s breaths are warm against his, a static buzz between their lips, coaxing Wolf into closing the space that’s formed. Wolf chases that while he hangs onto the sheath, arms bracketing Genichiro in, keeping him still as he kisses as if it will be his very last chance to fling himself into the heat of another.

He wants two things – he wants Kuro’s safety, and he wants Genichiro’s sounds and sighs and need, just like this. If Wolf is to die to ensure the former, then he will live knowing the latter well.

Wolf raises his arms to lift the blade away from Genichiro’s bowed back, stepping to the side only to set it against the tree trunk. Genichiro’s eyes track his every movement, surprise crossing his gaze as Wolf returns to him again.

“...I would have you first,” Wolf says, quiet.

The flash of familiarity in Genichiro’s expression is a fleeting thing, because then Wolf palms him through his pants and grabs his hip to still that instinctive jerk forward. Genichiro gives a bitten-off sound, his head tipped back and helmet nearly askew. The other Mortal Blade is still looped around his chest, but Wolf doesn’t need to disrobe him completely; if this is to be enough, then he’ll make the most of it for them both.

Wolf loosens Genichiro’s bottoms so he can slip his hand inside, grasping the base of Genichiro’s length. He can feel Genichiro shudder as if he’s flush against him, but they’re still mere centimeters apart. Genichiro’s breaths remain quick as Wolf moves his hand on him, his grip sure. When Genichiro’s fingers light upon the back of Wolf’s neck, Wolf leans into them. When those same fingers pull the tie from his hair, Wolf allows it.

When Genichiro curls his hold around the front of Wolf’s throat, Wolf looks up at him.

“Is this all you would give me?” Genichiro asks in a heated rush.

“…You’d ask for more?”

Genichiro gives a frustrated noise between his teeth, his free hand fisted up in Wolf’s haori. Wolf does not usually bear a delicate touch, but he makes a point of lightly smearing Genichiro’s precum against his thumb, feeling him out. Genichiro tightens the grasp around Wolf’s throat on what must be reflex, because he slowly eases the hold.

Wolf begins to lean upwards, and when he finds no resistance, steps on his tip-toes to reach Genichiro’s chin. There, he presses lips and then teeth, Genichiro slowly sliding his hand from Wolf’s throat all the way down his back. He tilts his head down to meet Wolf’s mouth, to smooth out the tension in his straining muscles.

“Would I,” Genichiro murmurs against him, “if you had the time to give it.”

Wolf pauses, drawing back just enough so that he may take in Genichiro’s face. The murky shadows do nothing to hide his conflict, not from Wolf, whose eyes are sharpened and yellowed from Night Eye.

Genichiro reels him back in before Wolf dares to question it. They fall into the passion together, desperate hands and hungry mouths working to sate a burning desire.

But Wolf doesn’t forget. This craving is only a fleeting indulgence compared to what each of them truly want.

 

They wash in the river and sleep an hour each before continuing on. Wolf takes the black Mortal Blade this time, choosing to carry its heavy weight on his own back. He can feel Genichiro’s gaze on him as he adjusts the strap, but when he glances up to look, Genichiro avoids his eyes.

By the time they reach Hirata’s walls, the morning sun is dimmed by the storm clouds, drifting closer and closer. As they cross the bridge over the river, Wolf notices that Hirata’s outskirts have retained some semblance of structure, more so at least than the central area, which is still nothing more than a burned-out husk overlooking the estate. Somehow the grass, greener than ever, has grown up from underneath the ashes. The trees are budding again.

Wolf cannot remember leaving here, but he knows how his last visit went. If he focuses, he can still feel the sharp sting of a blade spreading his flesh, the hot drip of blood down his back. The memory hurts, even if his body does not.

Nearby, thunder rolls. Genichiro glances up at the sky, reverential in the momentary respect he pays to the oncoming clouds.

“How is your wound?” Wolf asks Genichiro, watching him as he rolls his shoulder.

“Well enough.” Genichiro eyes Wolf. “And yours?”

Wolf touches his side. Wry, he says, “I had forgotten it.”

“You must have grown used to forgetting your wounds,” Genichiro muses. “Each time your immortal oath made you rise again, as if untouched.”

“…And your power…?”

Genichiro snorts. “My _power_ did no such thing. You witnessed my resurrection. There was no healing in it. It was only resistance. Sustenance.” Thunder growls once more at their backs, pushing them onward, faster. “The dragon’s blood holds greater power than anything else.”

Wolf looks sidelong at him. Slowly, solemnly, Genichiro corrects himself: “ _Held_ greater power. No longer.”

It’s all too easy to recognize the ruefulness in Genichiro’s voice. Is it because he still wants to use it somehow, or because so much of Ashina’s identity was built upon the dragon’s blood and its strength?

They’re almost past the old kitchen area when Wolf hears wood resettle as if someone has taken a tentative step inside the building. He has his sword out in an instant, already halfway there, but Genichiro catches him by the shoulder and keeps him back.

“Wait,” Genichiro hisses at him. Louder, he calls out, “Resilient people of Ashina! Show yourself!”

Wolf lowers his blade, watching Genichiro.

Genichiro’s jaw clenches. He straightens up and somehow louder yet, he shouts: “I am General Genichiro Ashina, grandson of Isshin Ashina! The blood of Ashina _will not be burned out!_ ”

Thunder claps, matching the echo of his voice. Then one man appears from the decrepit building, and a second after him. Three more, then five, and a crowd has appeared from behind a wall, gathering, pushing forward. Without fail, each and every person stops short when they spot Genichiro, as if seeing a ghost.

The whispers start up – _he lives_ , say some, hopefully. Others murmur about Isshin’s fate, and the occasional mention of the word _shinobi_ catches Wolf’s ear, always breathed as they catch sight of him next to Genichiro.

Wolf is silent as he sheaths his sword. He joins the throng, standing in front. Some flinch away from him, just enough for him to catch sight of a small boy watching him, a few people away. The boy’s hair is a ragged mess, his eyes hollow with starving loss. Wolf blinks at him, then tears his attention away to look at Genichiro once more. Genichiro’s dark gaze roams over the crowd, strength in the width of his form, the steadiness of his stance.

Wolf knows well why so many would follow him to their deaths. He kneels, then says over the hushed voices, “General.”

Genichiro stares at him.

Wolf adds, “Let us take back Ashina.”

Lightning scatters through the heavy clouds. Genichiro’s face brightens with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 you guys.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, I couldn't wait until Monday to post this - consider this making up for the week I missed an update. You know how at the end of a TV series, sometimes they do those really long episodes to tie it all together? This chapter’s like that. I hope it scratches the itch.
> 
> AGAIN: This fic IS CANON-TYPICAL VIOLENCE. If you saw it happen in-game, then expect it to be free to use here. I don't want to spoil anyone for what goes on in this chapter (there is a lot), but consider this a TW. Thank you and please take care.

They cannot take all of Ashina back to the Dilapidated Temple with them. For all that this is only a sheared-away part of a larger people, it is still a sizable group. After the rain subsides, Genichiro sets about a plan with those more tactically inclined, and Wolf is left doing what he has done for so much of his life already…entertaining children.

Genichiro reclaims his title of General while Wolf plays bamboo stalk for a rowdy bunch of kids. A girl scales his stoic form like a monkey and her brother jumps in vain at Wolf’s outstretched arms. Wolf does not lower them for him; when the boy child finally manages to leap high enough, little hands straining, to grab onto Wolf’s wrist and hang on, it’s not an empty victory. He shouts his success. The girl giggles, as Wolf carefully moves her from his back to his shoulder. Two more kids hold fast at his ankles.

The child he’d seen before – the boy with starving eyes – stays on the fringes of the group, though. No parent sent him this way, no guardian looming nearby to ensure his safety. Wolf watches him closely. When every other child toddles off for a new game that doesn’t rely on Wolf’s complete and total stillness, Wolf walks over to the starved-eye boy.

The boy watches his approach as if he were a snake about to bite him. Wolf kneels next to him, holding up both hands when the boy flinches away. 

They stare at each other with matching expressions.

“…You’re…a shinobi,” the boy says eventually. 

Wolf nods.

The boy glances down at Wolf’s prosthetic, then just as quickly, back up to Wolf’s face. “What happened to your arm?” 

Wolf holds out his left hand for the boy to examine. After a long, frozen moment, the child takes his hand and studies the mechanisms, looking fearful and curious all at once. Wolf doesn’t so much as breathe. He wonders what Emma would say. He’s fine with children, provided that they are as odd a child as Lord Kuro. Speaking, though, has never been his strong suit.

Wolf summons up all the grace of the Gentle Blade that he possibly can when he says, “Everyone here has lost something.”

Still. He throws a look back to Genichiro, where he and a group stay huddled over a makeshift map of Ashina Castle, drawn in the sand. Wolf turns his attention to the boy again to find his all-too-knowing gaze leveled steadily on his own.

Emma would have smiled and found a smart way out of the situation. Lady Butterfly would have ruffled the boy’s hair and played a little game to keep him sharp. Owl would have handed him a sword and taught him how to use it with eyes like those, ready to fling himself at anything for meaning.

Wolf simply takes a candy from his pouch and offers it to him. The child nearly snatches it from his outstretched palm, quickly shoving the sweet in his mouth. At his age, it’s the only thing Wolf would’ve wanted too.

 

The plan is this:

Their patchwork military will take up arms and wait in the Sunken Valley. It’s a gamble; Wolf didn’t kill the Great Serpent when he had the chance, but Genichiro is somehow certain that if they stay close enough to the cliffs, the Serpent will leave them be. Wolf wonders what experience he has with the Serpent to make such a claim, but again – with so much confidence in Genichiro’s voice, no one even begins to think to question him.

Wolf and Genichiro will slip into the Castle. The Ministry’s occupation is thick, and will no doubt be worse now that they’ve surely noticed the loss of two ninja, but it can’t be helped. Once they are far enough into the Castle, and have drawn enough attention from the inside, Genichiro will call on lightning to signal the army’s push forward. They will set the rest of the Castle ablaze themselves.

Much of Ashina is already burned, but not many of the important buildings. Much of it remains inhabited by the Ministry’s people. Remove their shelters, and it will remove one more advantage that the Ministry has over them. If some die in the flames, then it is all the better. 

Wolf remembers Hirata. He shuts his eyes and takes a breath of air, already tasting smoke.

While the army heads off to the Sunken Valley to wait, Wolf and Genichiro return to the Dilapidated Temple to tell their little rebel group the news. Genichiro steps away to speak quietly with Emma. The Divine Child seems concerned as she looks at Wolf, doubly so upon seeing the black Mortal Blade on Wolf’s back.

“Kind Shinobi,” she says, sorrowful, then walks closer. She says nothing more, only reaching out to take his flesh and blood hand in her own. She squeezes his hand once. 

“Please take care,” Wolf says to her, low, and this time when she holds tighter onto him, it’s a prelude to letting go.

Genichiro approaches then. Over his shoulder, Wolf sees Emma’s pinched brows and tight frown. 

“Sekiro,” Genichiro says. Wolf looks at him. “Are you ready?” 

He nods, sharp and sure. The Divine Child releases his hand, stepping back. She rejoins Emma, and Wolf glances between the two of them, bowing deeply, once for each of them. “Thank you,” he says to both.

“We will join you when the storms pass,” Emma says. 

“By then, we will have won,” Genichiro replies confidently, checking his bow and his crimson Mortal Blade. It may not hold any power over resurrection now, but it can still end lives.

They leave the Dilapidated Temple with Emma and the Divine Child wishing them well, and the caws of crows at their back.

 

To fight to the death is an ugly thing, and people have been bled on Ashina’s soil over and over again. Ashina is a land that has fought for herself more than any other. The Ministry sees Ashina as a blight, as a frightening, ominous force with her resurrection and her immortality, her spirits and her infestations.

Perhaps all these things _are_ curses. Wolf would not have severed immortality if Kuro did not believe it as such. But Wolf would have done it regardless of the reason, if Kuro willed it. He’d cut through more men than he could count now.

Genichiro and Wolf stay close as they sneak back into the Castle. It burns from the inside-out, not from the outside-in, and they watch the smoke begin to billow out from an adjacent rooftop while they wait for the Interior Ministry to rush towards the source of the new fire, to rush towards their ends. Storm clouds sit heavy in the sky over them, the same angry gray of the smoke.

Wolf looks at Genichiro.

“Ashina was built on ash,” Genichiro says solemnly. He takes his bow from his back and notches an arrow with smooth fingers. “And so it can be rebuilt upon ash, too.” 

He’s an excellent General, Wolf thinks. Ruthlessly pursuing what he must to keep his people safe. Skillful and certain. In another life, things between them likely would have been very different.

The flames pour out from the wood, flickering bright against the edges of Genichiro’s face, and Wolf is suddenly and undeniably sorry that they don’t have more time. He’s shocked by the depth of his want, trapped beneath the surface of it. The smoke stings his throat, but Wolf is more concerned by the tightness in his lungs.

“Shinobi of Ashina,” Genichiro adds. He turns his gaze onto Wolf, dark eyes lit by the fire. Shouts begin to sound off around the Castle walls. “Thank you.”  

“…It isn’t over yet,” Wolf says.

Genichiro shakes his head as he raises his bow at the crowd of soldiers gathering below them, clamoring for the entrance of the Castle’s central building. Thunder growls like an animal overhead. Wolf draws his blade just as lightning crackles above them.

“But it soon will be,” Genichiro says, and lets the arrow fly. 

 

The fight is long, and the losses devastating. Wood crackles with leftover embers. Bodies of Ministry soldiers and Ashina people alike litter the ground. What was once their castle grounds is now flattened and fallen.

Wolf’s opened up the wound in his side again, and has several more to match it. His hands would be red if not for the ash layered on top. His haori is ruined with blood, body exhausted, but – 

“It is done,” Genichiro says nearby, his chest heaving. His armor is black with soot. Wolf’s face feels dirty with sweat, and when he rubs the back of his hand over his eyes, he feels the powdery gray stay behind. Like another Dragonrot mark. Like another immortal oath.

The survivors pick themselves up off the ground, their number more than anyone hoped for, but less than anyone would like. Wolf scans the group and finds no starving eyes looking back at him – and more importantly, no small corpse. They must have left all the children in Hirata. That, at least, is a relief. 

They gather beneath the largest pillar of smoke. Genichiro addresses everyone, thanks everyone, instructs everyone – go here, go there, collect all the food and supplies possible, gather up the injured. Emma and the Divine Child arrive soon after, immediately setting about caring for those they can. Wolf finds himself watching the Divine Child work, her face determined with her purpose. He’s pleased at the sight. 

Genichiro finds him eventually, of course. They are both messes in their own right, but now that Genichiro is not standing in front of a crowd with all eyes on him, he seems weary. He’s put his helmet away, leaving his tangled hair wild. Wolf is struck, not for the first time, with the desire to touch.

Instead, Wolf starts to say, “I must –” 

“I know,” Genichiro interrupts. “Where?”

“The field.” 

“Then I will come with you.” 

It surprises Wolf into silence. He gathers his thoughts again and asks, “…Will you look after Lord Kuro?”

Genichiro stares outright at him, something unreadable flickering across his face. “He will be taken care of,” he promises. 

Wolf nods once. The black Mortal Blade is heavy on his back, but soon it will be relieved from him. They leave a few capable people in charge, then set off for the field outside the reservoir. It isn’t far, and for the two of them, the tired men that they are, that is a blessing. Neither speak as they walk, perhaps because of the fatigue they wear like a second skin, or because they both already know what comes next.

Wolf, truthfully, is glad that Genichiro is there as he approaches Kusabimaru, still sticking out of the ground. Kuro’s body is without blemish, even now – certainly thanks to his bloodline. Wolf expected an empty corpse to rot like any other, but he supposes Kuro has always been an exception to the rule.

He looks at Genichiro once before unsheathing the Open Gate. Only once. Genichiro’s expression is tight with an emotion too raw for Wolf to name. He says nothing. Wolf says nothing.

In the end, the last look is all they need to share. It's the final comfort that he allows himself.

Wolf presses the cool, hungry metal of the blade to his neck.

 

* * *

 

 

Genichiro watches Wolf drop the sword, then watches as his empty body crumples when the last vestige of life leaves him. Kuro's breathless and dazed and sticky with blood, but he is breathing and alive and Genichiro knows that, in the end, that is all that will matter to Wolf. The Open Gate is a terrible and amazing force, one to be reckoned with, and it has taken Genichiro to its brink once before.

He’s not afraid of it taking him again.

Genichiro walks towards the fallen Mortal Blade, to Kuro, to Wolf’s lifeless body there on the ground, covered in so much red that he appears more mangled than Genichiro knows him to be. Kuro looks up at him, recognition shifting across his face.

“Lord Genichiro,” Kuro begins, and then his eyes light upon Wolf and he stops completely. 

Genichiro shakes his head as he takes the black Mortal Blade in his hand. “I will give him back to you,” he says. He stands over Wolf’s body, then adds, “Divine Heir. Please turn your face away.” 

Kuro seems to want to say something more, but Genichiro doesn’t give him the chance. Wolf’s blood smears against his skin as he places the sword to his throat. The second that Kuro’s eyes shut tight, Genichiro makes his sacrifice. He remembers the sting and pain, the heat of his life gushing from his neck. He remembers the ache of another crawling from his flesh, giving breath to someone, something, else. It’s different this time. This time, it’s his blood pouring out over Wolf’s dead form that gives life back to him. There’s no crack of bones and throttling of organs as another uses his body as a gate to the world again.

Genichiro drops to his knees, the world swirling black in his eyes. He hears thunder and sees lightning, and when the white flash fades from his vision, he’s somewhere else altogether.

There's a fog surrounding him, casting the world in a pale light. The air smells like sakura. The stars gleam above his head, and Genichiro stares upward, uncomprehending. It’s cold, as only the top of a mountain can be cold.

“Giving yourself up twice, Genichiro?” says a voice he’s missed all too much.

Genichiro swings around to face Tomoe. She’s as elegant as ever with her trained poise. He’s missed her guidance, her teaching, and all but collapses at the sight of her. “What kind of illusion…?” he manages, strangled. 

“Do you want to die so badly?” she presses, as if he is not on the verge of losing the final shred of his mind.

“I’ve finished what I set out to do,” he says, throat tight. He reaches up suddenly, finding his neck untouched, his fingers clean of scarlet. He stares at his hands.

“You didn’t try to stop him.” 

Genichiro almost laughs. “I have _never_ been able to stop him.” And besides that, Wolf never would have forgiven him if he had stepped between the blade and him. He knows that loyal drive too well.

“So then.” Tomoe tips her head, curious. "Why bring him back?"

She is too clever, too intuitive. She knows him, and Genichiro shrinks back from it. There’s no use in lying or pretending. She will know the second he attempts a facade. Honesty is his only choice.

“I couldn’t stand it,” Genichiro spits, hurt, gutted. “I couldn’t stand to see him _throw himself away_.”

Tomoe’s slow sigh is a quiet one. Of course she understands, of all people. It occurs to Genichiro then that Tomoe and Wolf would have gotten along awfully well, but there is no point in wistfulness now.

“You sentence him to your fate instead?” she asks.

“What…?” 

“A fate in which you throw _yourself_ away." She gestures here, there in the air, as if it is so easy to show her meaning with simple gestures. “So that he may live in your place?”

“He has the Divine Heir.” Tomoe’s shaking head gives him pause. More firmly, Genichiro insists, “He wanted to save Lord Kuro.” 

Tomoe’s huff of amusement is sad. “Genichiro, still so single-minded. You think someone can only want one thing?”

No, he knows. He has wanted nothing more than Ashina for so long, but – 

“I want him to live,” Genichiro says quietly. He fists his hands tightly together, his anger as vibrant and real as the drops of rain that begin to fall on his cheeks, the storm that starts raging above them. He shouts, “ _He must live!_ ”

His voice echoes out around them, the emptiness swallowing it up. Genichiro can’t catch his breath, can’t help but feel as if this is all wrong. He stares back at Tomoe, her eyes soft and sorry.

“With immortality’s end comes a new beginning for the Divine heritage,” Tomoe says. She ventures closer to Genichiro, his wet hair dripping from the rain, his teeth clenched together so much that it hurts. “And to the few that played a role, a gift from the Fountainhead Palace seems only right.” 

Genichiro straightens. “What…?” 

Tomoe takes his hand, putting something into his open palm. She tuts when he tries to look at it. “Place it on your tongue. And…when you are able, thank the Divine Heir and his shinobi on my behalf.”  

As she lets go of his hand, he does as she’s told him to, because there is nothing else for it. He pinches what she’s given him between his fingers and presses it to his tongue, his heart thunderous. 

“Goodbye, Genichiro,” Tomoe says gently, just as the fog closes in around them.

Genichiro snaps upright, gasping for breath. One hand grips his throat as he searches for a wound that he can’t find; the other hand he spits into, staring down at the sakura petal he finds there. Beneath him is dirt and grass, swaying silver stalks tickling his cheek. The moon is full and bright, no fog masking the surroundings and no Tomoe to answer his questions.

He glances up to find a familiar pair of lonely eyes looking back at him – now, no longer lonely. Now, they are wide and surprised, confused and disbelieving.

“Sekiro?” Genichiro says, startled.

“You were…” Wolf starts, then trails off. He looks horrific, absolutely covered in blood from himself and from Genichiro, his hair matted with it, but there is no garish wound on him anymore. No sign of his death. No hint of it at all.

Genichiro realizes Wolf is kneeling next to him, with Kuro nowhere in sight. “Where is the Divine Heir?” 

Wolf blinks at him. “Waiting inside the tunnel –”

Genichiro pulls Wolf down to him, kissing him with a desperation he’d be ashamed of, if not for the variety of recent events. Wolf is stunned into stillness for a suspended moment, then kisses him soundly back, all but crawling on top of Genichiro to get closer. He tastes like blood and sakura and Genichiro would have it no other way, panting between hungrier and hungrier presses of lips.

Wolf bites him once, hard enough that it hurts. Genichiro glares up at him for it suddenly, meeting the grim gaze peering back down at him. Wolf doesn’t say anything, but Genichiro knows retribution when he sees it.

So he pets fingers down the nape of Wolf’s neck until Wolf has no choice but to lean into it, softening beneath his touch. He’s learned a few things from their stolen moments, after all. Maybe Genichiro cannot land a perfect, perilous sweep on Wolf, but he can certainly coax him to lower his guard in this way.

“Let’s not keep Lord Kuro waiting,” Genichiro says, though every inch of him burns to feel Wolf touch him beneath his clothes, to feel how whole and warm he is. 

“He will not be expecting you,” Wolf tells him, though he peels himself off of Genichiro.

“No,” Genichiro muses as he takes Wolf's offered hand, “I suppose he won’t be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What. An. Adventure. Thank you for joining me on this wild ride of Sekiro indulgence. I’ve had the “Wolf kills himself for Kuro” ending in mind since, I don’t know… chapter 3? But didn’t know whether I was going to make it bittersweet or not. Well, here you guys go. At the risk of suspension of disbelief (since Sekiro is a viciously unhappy game), here is the happy ending. Truthfully? I’m satisfied. I feel that I’ve told the story I want to tell.
> 
> Weeelllll…most of it. Stay tuned for an epilogue of the indulgent sort. ;)
> 
> So much <3 to you all.


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